


Scars Beyond Counting

by masulevin



Series: Look to the Future as it Blooms [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Fight, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Grey Wardens, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Oral Sex, Pre-Relationship, just slightly though - Freeform, tags will be added as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Harea Mahariel has only been married for two weeks when she contracts the taint and loses her husband at the same time. Suddenly, she's thrust into a war she barely understands with a strange group of people who slowly become her new clan. Her one bright spot is Alistair, the only other person who understands what she's going through, and who slowly breaks down the wall she's built to defend herself.Mostly canon-compliant. Very little of what I've written is from an in-game scene or quest; mostly I've added scenes from their time at camp to flesh out relationships.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is the first fic I wrote when I really started getting into DA a few months ago. I wrote about half of it before getting too embarrassed to continue, but last week I dug it out and decided to start working on it again.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's a spotify link for my story playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/user/hufflescruff/playlist/0UdujTMND1EFeLiqvCJAe5)
> 
> \---
> 
> I have faced armies  
> With You as my shield,  
> And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing  
> Can break me except Your absence.  
> Trials 1:6

They’ve only been married for a few weeks. It still feels new and fragile, like if she touches him wrong he’ll disappear, go back to his own clan. The amulet he gave her at their bonding ceremony still hangs heavy between her breasts, a new weight she doesn’t want to get used to. She touches it whenever she thinks of him, whenever they’re apart, whenever she wants the reminder that what she dreamed about for so long is finally true.

She is bonded. She was given a man who is loving and respectful, a strong hunter, a tender lover. Their children, when they come, will be loved unconditionally. They will be able to pass on their culture to a new generation, to help preserve their ways.

They guard their camp together some days. When all is quiet, it gives them the opportunity to have some privacy, to explore each other’s bodies like it’s their first time again.

That’s what they’re doing when their sharp ears pick up the sound of shemlen crunching dry leaves a hundred yards away. Her head swivels to the sound and she pulls away from Tamlen’s embrace, taking a step towards the sound. He pouts, brown eyes still clouded with lust, and wraps his arms around her from behind. He rubs his hardness against her and kisses the tip of her ear, making her eyes flutter closed and a soft moan escape her lips before she remembers their duty.

She pulls away again, squeezing his hand before picking up her discarded bow. “Let’s scare them off and then we can pick up where we let off. Yes?”

Tamlen agrees with a sigh. It will be a long time before she will forgive herself from pulling away from his embrace.

\---

“Have you… have you lost anyone?” Harea looks sharply at the shemlen facing her, hand instinctively making sure that her amulet is still safely tucked under her armor. It is, but she still can’t keep a frown from darkening her face.

It’s only been two weeks since the mirror took Tamlen. Much has changed in such a short time, and when she awakes in the mornings she often can’t remember where she is. That her own life was barely spared does not escape her notice, but now she has to make decisions she knows little about because this shem, Alistair, can’t. He lost someone too.

She has been silent for too long. His eyebrows draw together and he opens his mouth, but she can’t bare to hear a joke at this moment.

“Yes.” The word is quiet. Alistair’s lips press together and he sighs, looking down into the mug of weak ale they bought at the tiny Lothering inn.

It is just the two of them there, sitting together in silence. Morrigan disappeared, leaving Harea alone with Alistair’s full attention. She thought he would want to talk about Duncan. It didn’t occur to her that he would ask about her own past.

Talking about Duncan made her sad, but talking about Tamlen makes her feel like a hole is opening in her chest.

Alistair seems to feel her reticence. He doesn’t know much about the beautiful, drawn elf that Duncan brought back to Ostagar, only that she somehow contracted the taint from an old mirror and her only chance to live had been the Joining. Her eyes, such a deep brown that Alistair thinks he might drown in them if he looks too deeply, hold shadows that he doesn’t know how to chase away, and he certainly doesn’t know how to ask what put them there.

All he can do is ask questions, hope they’re safe, and make awkward little jokes when they aren’t. And if the little joke doesn’t work and the shadows in her eyes threaten to spill over...well, Alistair can call Fen the Mabari over. He always knows how to make his mistress smile.

Tonight, in the light of the fire, he can see the shadows growing, taking over her soft face. He can see it in the way she catches both of her lips between her teeth, in how she holds the necklace she tries to keep hidden.

Tonight, emboldened by the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the ale in his belly, Alistair asks something he always wanted to ask an elf but never had the courage to before.

“Harea. What do your tattoos mean?”

Her eyes focus on his, eyebrows raised. He’s staring at the branch that curves across one of her cheekbones, the mirror image of the other. He lifts one of his large hands like he wants to brush his fingers across her cheek, but he thinks better of it and runs his fingers through his auburn hair instead.

Humans always stare, but they never seem genuinely curious, open to learning of her culture. At worst, they call her _knife-ear_ and _branded._ It takes her a moment to realize he’s… admiring? She shakes her head. Shem don’t admire vallaslin. His smile falters just a little, drooping at the corners, eyes dulling when he sees her expression. He misunderstood.

The expression makes her heart clench, so she begins explaining, voice low so only he can hear: “They’re called vallaslin. You might call them blood writing. They’re sacred to us. Our Keeper writes them on our skin when we come of age. We receive them in silence to show our strength.” Her chin juts out, defiant. “Only Dalish receive them. Flat-ears--city elves--don’t. They’ve forgotten their culture.”

Alistair’s eyes are wide and he’s leaning forward with both elbows on the table, ale forgotten. He’s still staring at her cheeks, and she feels her skin warming under the strength of his gaze. “Why are they sacred?”

“They represent our gods. This one,” she runs her fingers over her cheek, watching Alistair’s eyes follow the motion, a smile tugging at her lips, “honors Mythal the Protector. She’s the mother goddess, wife of Elgar’nan, patron of motherhood and justice.” She rests her chin on her fist, heart warming when Alistair whispers _wow_ under his breath. No one ever listens to her stories about the Pantheon. Even some of her clan chose their vallaslin based on appearance rather than meaning.

Alistair thinks he could stare at her all night if she let him, listening to all her stories from her clan. He’s heard every Chantry story, every line of the Chant too many times to count, but he’s never heard of Mythal or Elgar’nan. Speaking of her chosen goddess makes the shadows leave her eyes, just for a moment, as they shine bright with belief. He searches for more questions to ask for next time she starts thinking of whoever it was she lost. Now that he knows how to make her smile, he never intends to stop.

But for now, he just asks, “If Mythal is the protector, and you bear her mark… does that mean you have to protect me?”

Harea giggles, and the sound makes Alistair feel like he’s flying. It’s the first time he’s heard her laugh in the week they’ve known each other and the sound makes her sound like a girl. He wonders how old she is--surely no one so young should have to carry around such a heavy burden. He wants to take it from her so she’ll be as light as he feels right in this moment. She should always be laughing.

“Of course I’ll protect you Alistair.” Her smile is easy now, and he knows she’s teasing when she says, “I know you shemlen are useless fighters.”

\---

Alistair isn’t truly a useless fighter, and neither are the two strays he picks up in Lothering. The Qunari, Sten, is built like a stone wall and defends like one too, letting darkspawn and bandits bounce off of his wide chest before slamming into them with his sword.

Leliana, the redheaded Chantry sister, is a powerful rogue, wielding her daggers while singing to confuse her targets. Alistair seems to believe her, but even though Harea hasn’t met many Chantry sisters before, she’s pretty sure they aren’t supposed to fight that gracefully or stare at her breasts when they bathe together.

Dwarves join them on the road to Redcliffe, helping supply them in exchange for protection. Alistair agrees to it without asking her, the first decision he’s made without her input.

He glances at her with a smile. “Harea is our protector. She seems quite good at it.

Her face warms as she hides her smile by leaning down to clean the sticky blood off of her twin short swords. She can hear Alistair’s pleased chuckle as he turns to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her first archdemon dream, Alistair takes the time to make Harea feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time. The next is going to be longer.

The dragon is back. Its roar deafens her, freezes the blood in her veins, stops her heart. The darkspawn hoard screams in return, raising their weapons, shaking them in the air. Harea turns to flee, but warm fingers lace between hers, holding her still. She looks up and sees Alistair there with her, an uncharacteristically somber expression on his sun-kissed face.

“We can do this,” he says. “Together.”

The dragon screams again, the sound mingling with her own.

\---

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, shh.” Someone is shaking her shoulders, and she sits up with a start, narrowly missing slamming their heads together.

Alistair rocks back on his heels to avoid her and lets go of her shoulders.

“Nobody told me about the nightmares. They go away after a while, but that’s how we know this is truly a Blight.” Alistair falls silent when he sees a tear slide down her face, dampening the curling branches on her skin. He reaches out to brush it away before he realizes what he’s doing. His palm cups her cheek, his thumb drying the vallaslin. His touch, so tender despite all he has been through, makes something crack in her chest. She closes her eyes as more tears fall, the first she has shed since the Keeper told her about Tamlen’s death. She tries to pull away from Alistair’s touch, but he just snakes an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against his side.

After a moment of resistance, she melts against him, letting him wrap his other arm around her and bury his face in her hair. As she cries, he joins her, tears falling into her hair where she can’t see. She wraps her arms around him, clinging to him as she grieves for all the things she’s lost and all the things she will never have.

When she finally calms, Alistair relaxes his arms but doesn’t let her go. Harea lets him hold her, grateful that at least one person in Thedas understands how she feels, even if he doesn’t really know why.

“Alistair?” Her voice is quiet, hoarse from her sobs. The only sounds around them are the crackling of the campfire and the clinking of Alistair’s armor as he breaths.

“Hmm?” His face is still buried in her hair. She thinks he might have been falling asleep, soothed by the warmth of her against him. He pries his eyes open and nearly presses a kiss to her temple before remembering himself. Instead, he sits up straighter, letting his arms back to his lap.

Harea shifts away so she can face him. Her knee presses against his thigh, but neither of them pulls away. Their eyes meet and she’s surprised at the warmth she seems glowing from his hazel eyes. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, of the same flickering shadows that hide her blush.

“We’ve been traveling together for weeks, and I don’t know anything about you.”

His eyebrows lift, a familiar grin chasing away that serious look that almost drowned her. “Well…” he drags out the word in that way he has, making her lips twitch into a weary smile. “What would you like to know? About how I was raised by a pack of rabid Mabari hounds?”

Harea glances at Fen, who’s snoring on the other side of the campfire, his paws twitching as his dreams allow him to fight darkspawn or perhaps run free through a field of muck. “That _would_ explain the smell. And your table manners.” She looks up at him, struggling to contain her laughter.

Alistair doesn’t bother to hide his mirth, actually snorting as his laugh escapes him. “Yes, well, you’ve got me there.”

The pair sits together as the sun slowly rises. Harea listens to Alistair as he describes how he doesn’t know his mother, how he had actually been raised by Arl Eamon before he had been sent to the Chantry at nine years old. When he tells her about breaking his mother’s amulet, Harea grabs his hand instinctively, stroking his fingers with his thumb. He smiles warmly at that, but continues with his story.

They sit together until they hear Leliana begin to stir in her tent. Harea starts to pull her hand away and stand, but Alistair is stronger than she is and refuses to let go. “I told you all about me, but I still don’t know anything about you.”

“Oh, I’m not that interesting,” she demurs, trying to distract him from any questions that might bring her to tears again.

Alistair squeezes her hand before letting it go. “I think you’re very interesting,” he murmurs as she stands, watching her dark hair swinging in its braid down her back.

She shakes her head and laughs, blushing, leaving him alone by the fire.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group goes from Lothering to Redcliffe to Kinloch, the flirting gets real between our two Wardens.

Alistair can’t keep his eyes off of her. It’s like he can sense her just as he can sense the darkspawn, but instead of a dark tingling sensation she’s a spot of bright warm light. He can feel her circling their group, scouting the woods for anything that can help them. He can feel her glowing next to him, even as she glowers and complains about the blister forming on the heel of her right foot.

Her presence warms him more than the fire when they make camp at night, more than when Fen decides to curl up next to him for belly rubs. He doesn’t know how to say she feels like the sun to him. He doesn’t even know if he should. She still won’t talk about her family or her clan, and she never takes the amulet off even though she keeps it tucks under her clothes where no one can see it.

She _will_ tell him about her gods, though. She answers every question he can think to ask. If the question is particularly silly, she laughs and calls him a shem, but she says it without any malice at all. He likes it when she calls him shem. He likes it even more when she calls him shem and takes his hand, which she only does once or twice.

The last night before they get to Redcliffe, Harea watches as Alistair sets up his tent, throws a pot of stew on the fire, and then lays down on his back, staring up at the night sky. She looks over at Leliana with her eyebrows raised, but the bard just shrugs.

Leliana has told Harea a little of her time in Orlais, of how being a bard prepared her for the harsh realities of fighting darkspawn. Harea peppers her with questions in the time Alistair isn’t giving her the same treatment. She finds asking a great deal of questions helps to distract the others from pressing too closely at the tender spot in her heart.

“Perhaps his stew has finally poisoned him?” Leliana suggests. Their tents secured, Leliaan sits down on her bedroll and digs her lute free of her pack. She starts tuning it without looking at either Warden. She knows what’s happening between them, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.

Harea frowns at her friend, but doesn’t push her.Instead, she walks over to stand by Alistair, peering down at him. “Have you poisoned yourself?”

Alistair beams up at her. “Why would I do that? Lay down; I want to teach you the constellations.”

She obeys, laying down so that their shoulders are just brushing. “I already know the constellations, shem.”

His sun next to him, he feels warm, like they rested somewhere safe instead of in a clearing where darkspawn, wolves, or bandits can find them at any time. “Then we can teach each other, elf.” She exhales sharply, but when he glances over at her, she’s smirking. “Look.” He points straight above her head, tracing a small collection of stars. “That’s the white wolf.”

“Mmm. No it isn’t.” Alistair turns his head to look at her, but she’s busy staring up where he had pointed. He reaches between them and grabs her hand, entwining their fingers together. He watches her neck bob as she swallows hard, face coloring at his touch.

This is different than the other times they’ve sat together. He’s never taken her hand before. It’s always been the other way around. And their fingers have never tangled together with his thumb stroking hers. It feels closer. More intimate.

It takes her a moment to push Tamlen’s face from her mind to begin speaking again, fingers clutching at Alistair’s like she’s drowning.

“That’s Fenrir. The wolf that escaped the hunters by running into the sky.” A tear escapes her eye and runs down to her ear. Alistair watches it and squeezes her hand. He doesn’t ask what caused it. He knows she won’t tell him.

\---

They’re halfway to the Circle at Kinloch Hold before she can think of anything other than corpses rising from the ground to charge her with sword and spear, anything other than kind Bann Teagan doing painful back flips while the demon inside Connor cheered. The thing that finally pulls her from the constant nightmares is the amulet she found at Redcliffe Castle.

She instantly recognized it from Alistair’s description--given to her at length one night when she’d woken up already crying from a dream about Tamlen. Alistair smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead before launching into a long-winded tale that ended with her laughing but with the knowledge of the lost amulet. She saw it as she helped clean up the remains of demons after the battle and slipped it into her bag before forgetting it.

When she pulls it out of her bag, she spins to Alistair with a smile. Their tents are next to each other, making it easier for them to talk late into the night when they can’t sleep and wake each other from nightmares when they can.

He’s on his way back from the woods, so she walks over to him with the amulet dangling from her fingers. The bright smile that he always holds when he looks at her drops when he sees the pendant twirling in the firelight.

“What’s this?”

Alistair watches open-mouthed as Harea explains where she found it, that she knew it was his because of his description and because it holds a spiderweb of cracks from where he threw it at the wall in a fit of pique.

Her heart sinks when he says he isn’t used to people listening to him. Sure he has a lot ot say, but how could anyone just ignore him?

“Here.” Harea steps closer, closing the space between them, unclasping the amulet’s chain as she moves. She reaches up with both hands. Alistair ducks his head down so she can reach around his neck, and she stands up on her toes to see as she fastens the amulet behind him. With it secured, she relaxes back onto to balls of her feet.

Alistair keeps his head bowed, and Harea puts one gentle hand on his chest, pressing the amulet into his armor. “It looks good,” she whispers, then sucks in a breath as Alistair grabs her hand in his larger one.

He looks into her face, searching for something. She licks her lips, flushing under the strength of his gaze and the warmth of his hand on hers. His gaze drops to her lips and she watches his pupils expand in the firelight. Her heart jumps and she leans forward, just a hair’s breadth, just so she can feel the heat coming off of him a little better.

Suddenly, he’s gone, off to his tent to dig through his pack on the ground. She wobbles where she stands.

Harea hovers by the treeline frowning, trying to decide if she’s done something wrong. Did what she say upset him? Is he just upset that Eamon spent ten years waiting to return the repaired amulet because Alistair refuses to see him? Did she stand too close in those last seconds?

Leliana watches the pair from her position by the fire, eyes narrowed. She can’t hear their low conversation, but she can see the tightness in Alistair’s broad shoulders, the uncertainty written in Harea’s bitten lip and toe scuffing the dirt. Leliana glances over at Morrigan, who’s studiously ignoring the lot of them, huddled over her own campfire, before turning back to stir the evening’s dinner so she has an excuse to face her friends again.

Alistair finally finds what he’s looking for and returns to where Harea is still waiting. He stops a few paces away from her, looking down at the box he clutches in his hands. After taking a deep breath, he looks up into Harea’s face, grinning.

He opens up the box and pulls out the rose it contains. It’s beautiful--perfect even, with deep red petals that seem preserved by some sort of magic, maybe from the box that housed it. Harea steps closer until she’s able to reach up and touch him, but she doesn’t. She just looks up into his hazel eyes and waits for him to speak.

“I picked this in Lothering. I remember thinking, how could something so beautiful exist somewhere with so much despair and ugliness?” His face, already reddened from walking in the sun, reddens further as he holds the rose out, not quite meeting her gaze. "I thought that I might... give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, that's what I think when I look at you.”

Harea blinks at the rose once, then reaches out with shaking fingers to pull it from his grasp. She holds it up to her nose, inhaling its soft scent, before she lets a smile burst across her face. “Alistair…” her voice is breathy, quiet. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

His eyes snap up to hers in surprise. Her smile makes him feel warm, like the point of light she always is to him has grown brighter, stronger. Harea puts her free hand on his cheek, holding his face still so she can brush her lips across his in the lightest of kisses.

Alistair’s eyes flutter closed as his heart stops beating, but Harea moves away almost before he knows what she’s doing, walking over to sit by Leliana, rose still in hand. He has to pinch himself to keep from smiling too broadly as he joins them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After liberating the Circle, the group spends the night at the Spoiled Princess on Lake Calenhad. Alistair and Harea spend some time together to decompress after everything they went through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gets a little NSFW towards the end. Nothing major yet.

No one wants to sleep in the Circle, not after they spent hours fighting the demons and abominations to rid it of both. Harea is particularly drained after fighting through the Fade to wrest their souls from the sloth demon. She collapsed after slaying Uldred, sinking her daggers deep into his belly, slicing him open. She slipped in his blood, falling to the floor with a hoarse cry.

Wynne, the new healer, was at her side even before Alistair, sending pulses of magic through her trembling body. She could heal bruise and cut, but not bone-chilling exhaustion. Alistair helped Harea to her feet, squeezing her arm before letting her stand alone.

The group departed as soon as the First Enchanter agreed to honor the Grey Warden treaty. They requested rooms and baths at the Spoiled Princess and received two of the former. Sten wanted to sleep outside, unwilling even in the chilly nights of early autumn to sleep confined. Morrigan, wildling witch that she is, left without slipping up to the room she was to share with the other women.

Harea sits in the wooden tub until the already tepid water becomes icy, scrubbing at her skin with the harsh soap until her skin is raw and she’s shivering hard enough to make her teeth chatter. She dries off with the threadbare towel the innkeeper’s wife gave her, then dresses in her one clean tunic. It falls to her mid-thigh--not quite long enough to wear in public, but good enough to get from the bathhouse to her room unaccosted.

When she arrives at the small room she’s to share with Leliana and Wynne, the two women are already asleep in the two beds. Harea hovers by the door, trying to decide how to squeeze in beside Leliana without waking the bard up, until she hears the floorboards creak across the hall. Alistair is still awake.

She spins without thinking and knocks on his closed door. She can hear him shuffling around for a moment before he opens the door enough to see who’s there. When he recognizes Harea, he swings the door open all the way to greet her.

She hesitates, eyes falling to his bare chest. It’s broad and solidly muscled, small curls of red growing in the center, a sprinkling of freckles across his shoulders. Harea has sat in his arms but has never seen them bared before, and she has to force herself to look back up at his eyes. Her face grows warm as she realizes the sight of him is making heat pool in her belly and between her thighs. She isn’t ready for that yet. She can’t be.

Alistair is fighting his own internal battle. Harea is dressed for sleeping in a long tunic, but she didn’t put her breast band back on after her bath. He can see her nipples through the light linen, the soft swell of her breasts clearer now than he has ever seen them. And her legs… he tears his gaze up to meet hers just moments before she does the same. He relaxes slightly as he realizes she hasn’t caught him leering at her.

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers, as much from the sight of him as from the cold of the night.

He steps back from the door, inviting her in. She walks past him, right up to sit on the floor next to the tiny fireplace, sitting as close to the warmth as she can. Alistair moves behind her and wraps the blanket from the bed around her shoulders, draping it so it covers her completely. He pulls her damp hair free of the blanket and smooths it down her back. She leans into his touch, closing her eyes, and he sits down behind her to wrap his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

Harea warms quickly, melting against the firm muscles of his chest. He rocks her gently as she relaxes in his arms, pressing his nose against her hair as he always does when she lets him sit so close. He’s ready to breathe in her sweet scent, except--

“You smell different.”

Harea smiles but doesn’t open her eyes. “That’s what soap smells like, shem.”

Alistair pinches her arm gently and she jumps. “It’s different. Not like lavender.”

The elf does open her eyes at that, face warming as she thinks about Alistair memorizing her scent. She still doesn’t pull away--if anything, she presses closer to him and he holds her tighter. “I ran out of the soap I brought with me from my clan. I had to get some from the innkeep. Is it so terrible? I can leave if my smell offends you, my prince.” She tries to sit up like she might actually walk away, but Alistair grunts and pulls her back down.

“I think I can survive.” He kisses her temple, lips ghosting over her still-damp skin. She bites her tongue, holding back the moan that gentle kiss startled from her throat, and shivers.

“Are you still cold?” She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just shakes her head. “Good.” His breath tickles her ear, and she wonders if he knows what his gentle attentions are doing to her, tightening her insides and making goosebumps cover her skin under the blanket. She’s never felt so safe as when he holds her like this, when he offers protection without asking anything--anything at all--in return. She wants to turn around and take him in her arms, show him how thankful she is for him.

“Are you feeling well? After everything that happened today?” His soft voice pulls her out of her own head, souring her expression.

“I’m exhausted,” she answers honestly. “But… I’m afraid to go to sleep. After the dream.”

Alistair sighs behind her. She was the only one who hadn’t fallen prey to the sloth demon’s tricks. Without her entering his dream about his sister, he would be dead. They would all be dead. He doesn’t know how to thank her. “What did you dream?”

Harea doesn’t answer right away. The truth makes her feel ashamed. She doesn’t want to tell Alistair about how the demon showed her Tamlen playing outside of their aravel with a curly-headed toddler with dark eyes and his father’s easy dimpled smile. Tamlen was trying to show the little one how to shoot, but the child refused to hold the bow properly. Harea sat in the grass in the shade, a blonde babe nursing at her breast. The infant looked up at her, hazel eyes milk-drunk and unfocused, before Harea started to remember who she truly was.

“I was in Weisshaupt, with Duncan. He tried to convince me that we had defeated the Blight.” It wasn’t  _ all  _ a lie. Tamlen had said the same thing.

“Hmm,” Alistair sighs behind her. “How did you know it was a dream? I felt like I talked to my sister for hours before you showed up, and I had no idea. I’ve never even met Goldana before!”

Harea wonders how that could be true for a moment before answering the question. When the babe had looked up at her with eyes that looked so familiar, she remembered the man, the shem, who had eyes like that, eyes that followed her wherever she went, that caressed her face like she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. Why was Tamlen with her and not the man whose eyes matched her child’s?

Her answer, this time, is the truth, as much as it surprises her. “You weren’t there.” She closes her eyes.

Alistair stops breathing at her words. The sloth demon tried to give everyone their hearts’ desire in their dreams. It gave Alistair his family, Leliana the safety of the Chantry. And Harea knew her dream was false because she missed him in it?

She knew her future should have him with her.

He kisses her temple again, and tries to turn to her to face him. He wants to taste her lips again, to show her what he feels when he’s around her. He wants to share the warmth he feels from her, his sun.

She moves easily in his arms, but when he can finally see her face, he stills. Her eyes are closed, face as relaxed as he’s ever seen. Firelight dances over her smooth skin, gleaming across her vallaslin. He raises one hand and gently runs his finger across it, tracing the delicate whorls of the branches. Her lips curl into a smile, but she doesn’t wake, calmed as she is by the warmth and firmness of her embrace.

Alistair scoops the sleeping elf into his arms, surprised at how delicate she feels clutched against his chest. Her eyes blink open as he lays her down on the narrow bed closest to the hearth. He stands to move away, to lay down in the other bed, but she grabs his hand before he can step away.

“Stay with me.” Her voice is so low he can barely hear her over the thudding of his heart. He thinks, for a moment, that he misheard her, but she scoots to the edge of the bed and pulls him with her.

He lays down next to her, stretching out on his back. Harea immediately curls her body around his, tucking her face against his side. He wraps one arm around her, letting her cuddle against him as she falls back to sleep.

Alistair watches her breathing, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, and smiles as he slowly follows her into the Fade.

\---

The blankets fell off the bed as they slept, leaving them exposed to the night air. They also entwined themselves together more tightly as their dreams made them forget where they were. Harea had rolled onto her back, her tunic rucked up around her waist, exposing her smallclothes. Her arms encircle Alistair’s neck, holding him tight against her. His face is pressed into her neck, one arm around her waist, hand pressed against her smooth skin.

He hums in his sleep, his dreams giving him what his waking hours would not: he lays on his back as Harea undulates on top of him, her breasts bouncing just out of reach. Her cries stoke his desire hotter and he pushes himself up to capture one dark nipple with his lips.

He awakes with a little grunt, startled from his dream by the very real feeling of something pressed against his hardened cock. Harea is still sleeping soundly, her lips parting slightly as he pulls away from her embrace. Her arms are wrapped around him still, tightening when he tries to pull away from her completely.

He hesitates, gazing down at her. His eyes rake down her body, gaze lingering on her breasts under her tunic, on the strip of pale skin he can see where his hand rested, on her smallclothes resting low on her hips. His gaze snaps back to her face where he sees her lips still parted and her cheeks tinged pink. Her hands clutch at his skin and she moans quietly, making Alistair’s cock twitch in response.

Face flushing furiously, Alistair rips himself free of her arms and grabs the blanket on the floor. He covers Harea and himself from the waist down just as her eyes open to blink blearily up at him.

“Alistair?” Her voice is thick with sleep, and she rubs her hand over her eyes to banish the last image she saw: Alistair’s auburn head between her thighs, tongue working furiously inside of her. “Is it time to--”

“Shh, shh.” Alistair reaches out one large hand to brush a lock of hair from her face, and she relaxes back onto the pillow. He watches as she curls into a ball under the blanket, tucking her hands under her chin as she falls back asleep.

As soon as he can, Alistair stands, dresses, and flees the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has been saved, but Eamon is still suffering from his illness. Harea and Alistair share a private moment that makes Alistair uncomfortable, leading to their first fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW again, but still nothing serious.

They don’t speak of what happened at the inn, even after Connor has been saved. Alistair sits at Eamon’s side late into the night until Isolde shoos him away from her husband’s side to sleep.

He wanders the castle, not sure where to go. He thought Eamon would be healed along with Connor, but there is no known cure for the poison used by the blood mage. Now they’re about to hunt for the Urn of Sacred Ashes on nothing more than blind hope in an old legend. They’re to leave early in the morning, but he can’t find peace enough to sleep.

Alistair finds his way up to the battlements, following paths that he memorized as a child. The moon is full and high overhead, clearly illuminating each stone as he walks. He winds his way to the eastern wall and stops as he rounds a corner to see Harea sitting silently, gazing out into the night.

Her back is to him, her feet dangling over the outside of the wall, a fur-lined cloak flung over her shoulders to ward off the chill.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall?” Alistair demands. He leans against the battlement next to her, looking at her rather than at the view.

She doesn’t turn. “This is the highest I’ve ever been without something trying to kill me.” She says it with a laugh threatening to break through, but Alistair frowns. If she was only thinking about the Circle and the tower at Ostagar… “I found I couldn’t enjoy it without a little danger.” She finally turns around completely to face him, feet now dangling more than a foot over the stone floor.

He moves closer without realizing it, stopping only when he bumps into her knee. He glances down and starts to back up, but she grabs his hand before he can move. When he looks up at her eyes, she’s already staring at him, waiting.

She bites her lip, and he reaches out with his free hand to cup her cheek. He runs his thumb over her vallaslin and steps closer, bending down to press his lips against hers.

She responds immediately to his touch, dropping his hand to grab his waist, pulling him closer. She tilts her head back so he can reach her more easily, kissing him back with an intensity that makes his hands shake and his head swim.

Harea can’t think of anything other than the feeling of his lips on hers, his hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips with trembling fingers. This is different than the tentative kisses they shared on their way back to Redcliffe, always short, mindful of the camp full of people nearby. This one is more intense, pushing all other thoughts from her mind.

It’s been more than a month since she left her clan behind, more than a month since Tamlen was lost. They have been apart for longer than they were together, and the memory of his touch is fading under the heat of Alistair’s hands.

He tries to move closer, but he bumps into her knees. She breaks the kiss with a breathy laugh, looking up at his dazed face. She pushes him away so she can open her legs, then pulls him to stand between them. She runs her hands up his chest over his shirt, feeling the tense muscles shifting as he takes ragged breaths, then hooks her fingers in his hair. His eyes are shut at the feeling of her thighs squeezing his hips, and he doesn’t open them again until he accidentally bumps their noses together.

His hazel eyes meet her dark ones as he rests his forehead against hers. He smiles down at her as she runs her fingers through his hair, then snaps his eyes closed as she slips one hand between them to feel at the front of his trousers.

“Oh, shem,” she murmurs, finding him already hard. She runs her fingers along his length, feeling his size before giving him a gentle squeeze. “Is this all for me?”

Alistair makes a noise deep in his throat somewhere between a growl and a whine, flexing his fingers against the flesh of her hips. She reaches up and nips at his bottom lip with her teeth, drawing another low moan from him.

Encouraged, Harea stars pulling at the ties holding his trousers closed as she kisses him deeply, sliding her tongue against his. He inhales sharply at her attentions, but responds in kind, running one hand up her stomach to cup her breast. He squeezes it gently, marveling at its softness. She isn’t wearing a breast band under her dress, he notices belatedly, running his thumb over her nipple. It hardens under his touch, and she moans into his mouth.

Harea finally manages to pull the knot out of Alistair’s trouser ties, loosening them just enough for her to slip her hand inside his smalls to wrap her fingers around his cock.

Alistair gasps and pulls away from her, grabbing her wandering hand by the wrist to still her movements. She opens her eyes to frown up at him, but he keeps his grip on her wrist, firmly pulling her hands from his pants.

“What’re you--” she demands, voice thick, but she stops when Alistair lets go of her and moves both of his hands to her face.

He tips her head back so she’ll look him in the eyes. She pulls her cloak around her body, hiding from him as best she can with him trying to stare directly into her soul.

“What’s wrong?” she demands, voice small.

“I’m just…” Alistair hesitates, biting his lip. “I’m just not ready for that yet. It’s a big step.”

Harea pulls away from him, pushing past him to slide off of the wall. She walks a few paces away, shoulders hunched. She doesn’t know what to say. Did she misread the signs? She should have known better than to try anything with this shemlen prince. Her face flames, and she feels tears stinging at her eyes, but she pushes them away, back inside of her where they belong.

When she turns around, Alistair has already tied his pants closed again and is gazing at her with the most forlorn expression she’s ever seen on another person’s face. She almost goes to him, to wrap her arms around him to say everything is okay, but her face is still flaming. She remains where she is.

“This must make me sound like an idiot,” he murmurs, hands fisted at his sides.

Her anger… no, her _shame_ cracks a little at that, but she stands firm, only offering him a quiet “It’s okay. I understand.”

He frowns. “I guess I just wasn’t raised to take this kind of thing lightly.” He says it gently, but it makes her stand up straighter anyway.

“And you think I’m taking this lightly?”

Alistair flinches. “That isn’t what I--” he groans, sagging against the wall behind him. “Handled with my usual deft brilliance, I see.”

Harea trembles, shame at being turned down mingling with rage at being called loose. She’s never felt either of these things before, and after spending the last weeks trying to remain loyal to Tamlen’s memory while feeling closer to Alistair as this kind, self-effacing orphan who is the only one in Ferelden who knows what she’s going through… she can’t stand to look at him any longer. She turns on her heel and stalks away, letting the hot tears fall as soon as she’s out of his sight.

Alistair watches her walk away, cloak swirling around her legs, with his hands tugging at his hair. He feels hollow, like his heart has just fallen over the battlements into the lake below. He panicked when she touched him--she was the only woman to have even _tried._ She obviously knows what she’s doing. After ten years locked in a Chantry, being a little hesitant isn’t that strange… is it?

With a cry, he punches at the wall behind him, welcoming the burst of pain.

\---

Harea tries to smile at Alistair as usual when she sees him the next morning at the breakfast table, but she allows a little coolness to creep into her expression. Her eyes are guarded, and she keeps reaching up to touch the amulet under her shirt. She has a plate full of food, but she picks at it without really eating any of it, instead focusing on Teagan across from her.

Alistair frowns as he watches his uncle speak warmly to the elf. He barely slept the night before, worrying instead about whether or not she was still upset with him. He made up his mind to apologize to her as soon as he saw her… but now, here she is, focusing those rich brown eyes on Teagan instead of him. He can’t very well bring up what happened on the battlements in front of his uncle, can he?

He pushes away his half-eaten plate and leaves to don his armor.

Harea feels her shoulders droop when Alistair wanders away, and shame makes her face darken as she forces her attention back on Teagan. He does seem a little friendlier than necessary, perhaps, but she _did_ just save his life. And he says he wants to be clear of her plans before they leave.

She promises to send a message from Denerim as soon as she finds and speaks to Brother Genitivi, then excuses herself from the table.

She runs into Leliana in the hall, greeting the bard with an absent smile, but doesn’t stop until she grabs her arm.

“Did you and Alistair have a fight about something?” Leliana’s reddish eyebrows are drawn together, her light Orlesian accent calming Harea’s frazzled nerves.

Still, the elf is guarded. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he’s sulking, and I’ve never seen him do that before. I thought…” Leliana pauses and considers her words. “Since you two seem close, I thought you might know what’s ailing him?” It came out as a question, so Harea nods.

“I suppose I should speak to him before we leave.” Harea slips away from Leliana’s grasp, following Alistair to his room. The bard watches the Warden stalk off, smiling sadly. She so clearly remembers the early days with Marjolaine… Leliana shakes her head and goes to eat breakfast.

Harea pads up to Alistair’s room, not at all sure what she’ll say when she finds him, but knowing that _something_ needs to be said before they can leave for Denerim. They don’t need to be distracted while fighting darkspawn and bandits.

She knocks once on his closed door before pushing it open. Alistair is standing by a tall mirror, fastening his armor. He looks up as she enters, meeting her gaze in the mirror without turning around. She’s already dressed in her lighter rogue’s armor, so she walks up behind him to help fasten his straps. She works without speaking until he’s properly fitted, then she takes one step back to admire him with a small smile.

Alistair turns then, finally, a tentative smile lighting his features. “Harea,” he breathes, voice gently caressing her name.

That’s all she needs to hear. She closes to gap between them and crumbles into his arms. He struggles to hold her tight enough with their armor on, but he manages to keep her whole and upright.

“Harea, I am so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to say you were taking things lightly. I just meant that I take it much, much more seriously than most. And I’m not ready for that yet. I care about you a great deal, and I--” he tails off as Harea pulls just far enough away to look him in the eyes. “I want to give you what you deserve.”

What she deserves? What _does_ she deserve? He’s being sweet, but what does he _want_?

His eyes fall to the chain holding the amulet around her neck, and he runs one finger along it. His touch makes her shudder and close her eyes, blood rising to color her face. What does Alistair know of the amulet, of Tamlen?

Nothing, she realizes. She’s never told him.

She opens her mouth to ask her questions, or to give her answers, or to apologize, but he silences her by pressing his lips to hers, tilting her head back by pulling gently on her braid.

Harea sighs against him, relaxing under his touch.. He smiles against her lips as the tension bleeds from her shoulders. He pulls away and kisses her forehead before tucking her head under his chin.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, finally able to say what she needs. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so far. Or gotten so angry. I was just ashamed.”

He squeezes her tighter in his arms. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I guess… I should have told you earlier.”

She shrugs as best she can. “I care for you too, Alistair,” she murmurs, so quietly that he can barely hear her confession. “I want to be with you. But if you need time, then I’ll wait.” He presses another kiss to the top of her head, rocking her gently back and forth.

The castle bells toll the hour, reminding them of the Blight, the archdemon, and Eamon’s illness. Alistair jumps guiltily, then grins crookedly at her muffled giggle.

“Are you ready to go, my dear?” he pulls away from her embrace and offers his elbow to her. She takes it with a smirk, fighting to keep from laughing again. Hearing him say _my dear_ like that makes her heart soar. She hopes he’ll say it more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Communication is key in a relationship, my friends.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Harea decides to let a handsome Antivan assassin join their group, Alistair has a hard time accepting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I updated the rating for this chapter. Most of it is NSFW as I practice my smut-writing skills. If you're not interested in that, skip down to the line break towards the end and read the last few paragraphs instead :)

“If there were ever a sign we’re desperate, I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.” Alistair crosses his arms over his wide chest and scowls down at the Antivan Crow who’s reclining quite casually in the dirt. He’s more miffed that she’s letting the Crow join their group than he was when she decided to let him live. While Harea is being merciful, all Alistair can think of is that she’s giving the assassin a better chance to murder them both in their sleep later.

His scowl lessens only slightly as she touches his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, vhenan,” she whispers. Then, with a little smile, she adds, “I’m your protector, remember?”

Alistair scoffs. “It isn’t me I’m worried about,” he mutters, glancing down at her, but he lets the argument drop.

Zevran hops to his feet easily and winks at Leliana, who smothers a giggle as she turns to follow Harea and the rest of their group. Alistair keeps his arms crossed and his stare icy as Zevran brushes the dirt from his breeches and saunters past him. Alistair stays just a few steps behind the Antivan, not as willing as Harea to let him out of sight.

Alistair makes sure his tent is between the assassin’s and Harea’s when they set up camp that night. Harea acts like she doesn’t notice the hostile glances Alistair keeps sending Zevran’s way, but she does. She pauses by where Alistair is kneeling by the fire, preparing that night’s stew, and bends down next to him. She kisses his cheek and squeezes his arm before moving to talk to the new elf. It’s been weeks since she’s spoken to another of the elvhenan, and she wants to ask about his clan.

Alistair keeps an eye on their new companion until the elf retires to his tent. Harea speaks briefly with Wynne, making sure the older mage is feeling well after their long day of travel. Something seems off about her, making her pale and easily tired. Harea is convinced something is wrong despite Wynne’s protests, and often hovers anxiously over the mage after battles.

When Harea finally slips past Alistair to climb into her own tent, he follows. She looks up in surprise, pausing in unbuckling her amor. “Come to help?”

Despite his festering irritation, Alistair smiles and stands in front of her. She relaxes her arms and watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Alistair deftly removes her armor piece by piece, leaving her in just a thin tunic and leathers. As soon as she’s free, Harea turns her attention to his own armor.

She removes his shield and sword first, putting them within easy reach, just in case. She starts unbuckling his armor, placing each piece carefully beside hers. As she removes each piece, she presses gentle kisses to any skin it covered up, drawing little sighs from his lips.

Armor completely removed, Harea sits down and pulls him with her. When he’s comfortable, she moves to settle between his outstretched legs, wrapping her arms around his neck in a loose embrace. He puts his palms flat on her back, pulling her closer to his chest. She can see his pupils blown wide, feel his heart beating against her skin, and she kisses him slowly, deeply, running her tongue immediately against his lips.

He opens his mouth to hers with a little sigh, rubbing his tongue against hers. She runs her fingers into his hair, gripping it tightly, deepening the kiss as much as she can. She wants to reassure him, to make him forget whatever anger or jealousy drove him into her tent.

Alistair runs his hand down to the curve of her ass, lifting her and pulling her closer until she’s straddling his lap. The new position shows her just how well her reassurance is going, and she whines into his mouth. She doesn’t grind against him, remembering that he wanted to wait, ignoring the way her body is begging for more contact.

He doesn’t need her to encourage him further. At her moan, he pulls down on her hips to encourage her to move against him and moves to press kisses against the hollow of her throat, her jaw, and the delicate point of her ears.

She moans with clenched teeth, trying to muffle the sound, and squirms under his touch. He laughs quietly, breath tickling her skin, before nibbling at her earlobe.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hands moving from her hips to the small of her back under her shirt. She presses forward, eyes closed to savor the feeling of his hands on her bare skin. “I want…” he stops speaking to kiss her lips again, fingers digging into her skin.

She breaks the kiss after a moment and leans back to look at him. They’re both breathing heavily, and Harea wants to make sure of what he wants before she does anything else.

“What do you want?” she murmurs. “Tell me.” She moves her hands to cup his face, trying to give him the courage to speak.

He takes a deep breath. “I want…” he has to stop again. “May I touch you?” His hands twitch under her shirt, sliding up slightly.

“Yes, please.” She smiles at him, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs.

His face breaks into a large grin, and he starts to pull her back in for a kiss, but stops suddenly. His eyes dance away from hers for a moment as his cheeks darken, then he boldly meets her gaze. “You can touch me as well. If… if you want.” He clears his throat and kisses her before she can laugh or say anything in response.

His hands slide farther up her back until they find the ties of her breast band. He tugs on them blindly, and after a moment they come undone and the strip of fabric falls to her lap. He kisses her more fervently, wrapping one arm around her back to pull her closer to him even as his other hand moves to cup her bare breast.

She moans as his warm hands caress her skin, and with his permission she grinds down against him. He gasps and presses his hips up to meet hers. He leans his head back, eyes squeezed tight. How many times has he imagined her on top of him? Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of her in his lap, giving herself fully to his touch.

At his encouraging moans, Harea continues grinding against him, sliding her fingers under the collar of his shirt, ghosting over his warm skin. She remembers seeing him bare-chested at the Lake Calenhad inn, and she wants to see him again. She wants to taste him.

She’s tugging at his tunic, trying to pull it over his head without moving away from him, when he suddenly lurches forward. He lifts her with his hands on her thighs and turns them so she’s lying on her bedroll and he’s hovering over her, settling easily between her legs. She hooks her feet together and pulls his hips down against hers, encouraging him to rut against her.

He obeys, burying his face in the crook of her neck, nipping at her skin until she can’t keep quiet any longer. She slides her hands under his tunic, scratching him lightly with her blunt nails, until her hands are up around his shoulders. He pulls away from her slightly, helping her pull his shirt off over his head, before going back to her neck.

She’s panting under his attentions, soaking through her smallclothes as he leaves little love bites along her throat and collarbones, determined to show that she belongs to him. She knows and doesn’t care, desperate for more.

As he moves to kiss her ear, running his tongue along the delicate point just the way he knows she likes it, she breathlessly poses a question that makes him still.

“Alistair. May I taste you?”

He pulls away from her, balancing himself up on one hand so he can look at her. Her face is flushed, her usually neat braid coming undone so that her hair is splayed under her. Her breaths are coming in short gasps, her breasts heaving under her thin tunic.

“Taste me?” It sounds like someone else is asking his question, his voice quiet and far away.

She nods. “Roll over.” He obeys, moving to lay on his back. She straddles him immediately, sitting up so she can move her hips against him just right. He grabs her hips, large hands holding almost tight enough to bruise, and he pulls her harder against him. He arches his head back and groans deep in his throat, and she leans down to bite his lower lip.

“I want to taste you,” she says again, whispering against his lips. His eyes are tight shut as she continues, “I want to take you into my mouth. Is that okay?”

He nods and she kisses him again firmly before sliding down to kiss his jaw. She peppers kisses along his throat and chest, enjoying the feeling of the soft red curls in the center tickling her lips. She wants to give him time to say no if he changes his mind, so she moves slowly, teasing him as she moves down until she’s kneeling between his legs.

She looks up at him as she unties his trousers and slides them down, moving so he can kick them off completely. He’s naked before her, glorious even in the dark tent. His hands are fisted in the blankets beneath him, chest heaving with each breath, cock hard and weeping, begging to be touched.

She wraps one hand around him, her touch gentle, but even so he jumps and gasps. She gives him a few slow strokes before bending down and wrapping her lips around him. He groans and pushes up into her mouth instinctively, and she lets him thrust into her, relaxing her jaw until she can swallow him completely.

She keeps her eyes on him, watching as he writhes under her attentions. He forgets where he is, forgets everything except the feel of her mouth on him. The air in their tent is warm, and sweat begins to pool on his skin as he unravels beneath her.

Soon, far too soon, he feels his release upon him. He tries to pull away from her, tries to warn her, but she just looks up at him from under her lashes and _hums,_ letting the vibration travel through him, pushing him over the edge.

He comes, hard, her name a hoarse cry on his lips. She steadies him with one hand on his hip, holding him in her mouth until he’s spent. She releases him and swallows before licking her lips with a smile. His eyes are still closed as she moves to lay by his side, tracing lazy patterns with her fingers on his chest.

When he doesn’t say anything after a few minutes, she sighs gently. “Was that okay?”

His eyes pop open and he turns to her, mouth dropping open. “ ‘Okay’?” he echoes, and immediately rolls over to crush her beneath him in a hug. Her breath rushes out of her in a startled laugh as he peppers her face with kisses.

When she can breathe again, she runs her fingers into his hair and drags his lips to hers. She kisses him thoroughly before pushing him onto his side so she can curl against him.

“You didn’t even get struck by lightning, vhenan.”

Alistair’s tired chuckle rumbles from the center of his chest. “Not yet, but there are some more things I’d like to try that might make it happen after all.”

She perks up at that, propping herself up on one arm to smirk at him. “Oh really?” Her eyes are sparkling and she drags her fingers across his chest, ghosting over his nipples. “Anything you want to share?” He blushes hotly and avoids her gaze for a moment until she leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You can tell me, vhenan.”

He pulls her down against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck before answering. “I want… I want to do that same thing to you.”

She nuzzles against his cheek, heart beating faster at his words. “You want to taste me, Alistair?” He whines and nods against her, and she tries not to giggle at his reaction. “I’ll need to take my clothes off first.”

She pulls away and tugs her tunic off slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his for as long as she can. His gaze drops immediately to her chest, breath catching in his throat as her breasts meet the open air. He sits up immediately, grabbing her by the waist to hold her still so he can press hot, open-mouthed kisses against her warm skin. She arches her back to press closer to him, leaning her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. A loud moan erupts from her throat as his lips close around one nipple, pulling the pink flesh into his mouth and running his tongue across it. She grabs his hair and pulls him closer, trying to quiet the whine his actions inspires before he pulls away to roll them over.

He takes his time, worshiping her form, trying to make her feel just how beautiful he finds her, thanking her for choosing to be with _him_ of all people. Her amulet still lays between them, but he knows she’ll tell him what it means when she’s ready, and he just continues his attentions. She writhes under his touch, fingers clutching desperately wherever they can find purchase: in his hair, on his back, in the blankets under her.

He delights in the little noises he coaxes out of her, knowing they're all for _him_ and nobody else. When he reaches the waist of her leggings, he pauses to leave a love bite along the jut of her hip bone. She giggles and pulls away slightly, and he looks up at her with a smirk gracing his features.

He sits up slightly and toys with the ties holding her pants closed. “May I?” he asks, looking up at her with his eyes darkened with lust. She bites her lip and nods, then gasps out a _yes_ as he quickly unties them and slides them down over her hips.

She kicks them free of her legs and lays back on her bedroll, letting Alistair take a moment to rake his eyes over her naked body. Alistair is momentarily overwhelmed by her, not sure where he wants to start. He wants to spend the rest of his life in this tent with her, touching her and kissing her everywhere until she gets tired of him. He wants to caress every inch of her skin with his tongue, taste her until she’s begging for him.

She loses patience, reaching out with one foot to hook around his leg. “Alistair, _please._ ”

His eyes snap up to hers, and his breath catches in his throat. Her lips are swollen from his kisses, her pupils blown wide with her want for him. Her cheeks are pink, sweat just starting to stick her dark hair to her face. She bites her lower lip, chewing on it when he still doesn’t move, and starts to pull away from him.

“You don’t have to--”

He stops her by leaning down to press a kiss to her stomach just under her navel, and she falls back down with a whine. He shifts so that he’s laying in front of her, nudging her thighs apart so that his broad shoulders can fit between them. He presses soft kisses around the dark curls between her legs, teasing her as his lips tickle the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her muscles are trembling under his touch, and he feels a surge of pride at what he’s doing to her.

Finally, finally, he moves to place his lips where she wants them the most. He presses an almost chaste kiss on her sex before tentatively sweeping his tongue up her slit. The taste of her explodes on his tongue, and he moans against her, the sound drowning out her own choked gasp.

What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm, lapping at her juices like a starving man. He finds her clit and focuses his attention there after hearing her surprised squeak. He slips one finger inside of her, then a second, moving them together as he continues moving his tongue against her.

The taste and feel of her coming undone for him, because of him, is glorious. Alistair could spend hours between her legs, burying his tongue inside of her, sucking at the little bundle of nerves that has her squirming and bucking into him.

“Alistair,” she whines, pushing his name from between clenched teeth. “ _Yes_ , vhenan.” The end of her cry is cut off as he pushes her over the edge and she has to bite her lip to hold back a louder cry. The pleasure he gave her washes over her, making her quake, the sensation building until she can’t handle it anymore. She reaches down and pushes him away, and he relinquishes her with a smug smile.

He crawls back up her body and kisses her soundly, and she immediately slides her tongue against his. She can taste herself on him, feel her wetness still on his chin, and she keens softly into his mouth.

He breaks their kiss to rest his forehead against hers, and they each try to catch their breath. Their chests heave together as they pant, and Alistair can feel Harea’s heart beating against his.

“Was that okay?” he asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

She giggles at him, squeezing his arms gently. “That was perfect.”

His smirk grows, and she can hear it in his voice when he speaks. “Oh, good.”

She swats lightly at his arm before closing the distance between their lips again. This time her kiss is soft, her mouth moving slowly against his as her hand slides down his side to pull his hips against hers.

“No more, you demon,” he mutters as he breaks their kiss, a smile betraying his amusement. “I don’t want to tempt that lightning.” He settles down next to her, pulling her against his chest and burying his face in her hair. She lets him hold her, tangling their legs together.

“Are you sure?” Her question is quiet, her lust for him only just beginning. He nods against her and reaches down to pull the blanket over them. She relaxes more into his touch, gently running her fingers over his arm.

It only takes them moments to fall asleep entwined in each other’s arms.

\---

“Our Wardens seem very happy, no?”

Leliana glances at the assassin sitting next to her, cleaning his twin daggers, then over to where Harea and Alistair are working to fold up the tent where they spent last night together. The pair keeps sneaking glances at each other, and more than once Leliana has seen them reach out to touch each other.

She rolls her eyes back towards Zevran, making his smirk grow. “It’s about time. They’ve been mooning over each other for weeks now.” She smiles, but the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Zevran cocks one eyebrow at her. “But you wanted him all for yourself?” Leliana wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, making the elf chuckle. “Oh, I see.  It was the lovely elf you had your eye on.” Leliana keeps her gaze steady, but inclines her head up at him. “Well, if that’s the case, I would like to point out that I too am an elf, and I would be most _pleased_ to help you forget your Warden.” His eyes sparkle at her and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Leliana giggles, her laugh making Zevran smile smugly. “I shall certainly let you know if I require your assistance.”

The elf nods. “That is all I can ask, amor.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group travels in the Brecilian Forest, Harea learns a sad truth about the Wardens that leads her to angrily push Alistair away.

Meeting Goldana depresses Alistair. She’s nothing like she was in his dream, and the thought that he’s truly alone in the world drags a storm cloud over his head that he carries with him until they leave the city.

Brother Genitivi isn’t in Denerim, and because nothing is ever simple for them, he’s all the way on the other side of Ferelden in a little town in the Frostbacks. Instead of wasting their time walking back and forth across the country, the group takes a slight detour south to the Brecilian Forest. Harea knows that’s where she’ll most easily find another Dalish clan to call on for the treaty. She can’t contact her own clan--they were supposed to go north after she left with Duncan, and they’re probably already across the Waking Sea.

They make camp in a copse of trees, sheltered from the winter winds, and sit around a comfortable fire, splintering into different conversations as they unwind from the day.

Alistair is in his usual position beside Harea, one arm looped around her waist. He’s much more open with his affections now that they’re sharing a tent, even if they haven’t fully consummated their relationship. He’s always finding opportunities to reach out and touch her hand or kiss her cheek, anything to show her how he cares for her.

Tonight, Wynne is sitting on Alistair’s other side, a little smirk on her lips. When conversation pauses, she turns to get his attention, forcing her face into a look of motherly concern. “Alistair, now that you're in an… _intimate_ relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from.”

Alistair immediately blushes and starts choking on the ale he’s drinking. Harea leans around him to look at Wynne, a look of surprise on her face.

Wynne continues, ignoring their expressions. “I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms… but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other--”

“Andraste's flaming sword!” he cuts her off, sending Harea into a fit of giggles beside him. “I know where babies come from!”

Wynne leans forward, resting her hand on Alistair’s arm, affected concern plain on her face. “Do you? Do you really?”

Alistair grunts and pulls away from her. “I certainly hope so.”

“Oh alright then.” Wynne finally lets the concerned facade drop from her face, replaced by a wide smile. “I would hate to see our fight put on hold because of a little Alistair running around.”

Harea smiles softly at the image Wynne’s words conjure, remembering the infant from her Fade dream, as Alistair snorts. “Well, Grey Wardens can’t have children, so it’s a moot point anyway.” He turns to face the fire, then looks over at Harea as her body tenses beside him.

“ _What?_ ” she demands, voice low and harsh. Wynne catches her expression and immediately moves away from the couple, leaving them alone.

Alistair frowns a little as Harea scoots away from his grasp. “There’s something about the taint,” he explains, eyebrows knitting together. “It makes it… well, not _impossible_ I guess, but _difficult_ for Wardens to have children. All the Wardens I knew who had children became parents before they joined.”

Without a word, Harea jumps to her feet and stalks away from the fire, into the darkness of the woods. Alistair stares after her for a moment before racing to follow her. He tries to find her in the trees, but she is used to moving silently and avoiding humans. He stumbles over roots and shrubs he can’t see, hissing her name into the darkness.

He doesn’t see her until she wants him to, until she drops from a tree behind him and shoves him with both hands in the center of his back. He falls forward, catching himself on a branch with a muffled curse. “What are you _doing_?”

He turns to look at her, and as his eyes adjust to the darkness he can see her face is wet with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her hands are balled into fists at her sides, like she wants to hit him again, and her whole body is vibrating with anger.

Alistair takes a step toward her, arms outstretched, but she dodges him easily. “Why didn’t I tell you what? That Wardens can’t have children?” At her nod, he sighs and tries to step closer again. She sidesteps and moves to stand behind him, forcing him to turn around to look at her. “I didn’t--I didn’t think about it.”

Her voice is high, much higher than he’s ever heard it when she responds. “You didn’t _think_ about it? You didn’t _think_ I would need to know that I can _never have children?_ ” Her voice breaks on the last word, tears running down her face anew.

Alistair’s jaw clicks shut. _Oh._ He wants to sink to his knees and beg her to forgive him, but he’s sure if he does she’ll take advantage of the height difference to maybe kick him in the face. “I didn’t know it was so important to you.”

Her fists open and then clench again as she turns away from him. He stands still, watching as she paces in a tight circle before facing him again. She runs her fingers into her hair and pulls hard enough to hurt. “We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.”

He blinks at her, but doesn’t speak. She’s glaring at him, voice trembling as she speaks. “The elves are dying out, Alistair. I only joined the Wardens because I was going to die if I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave my clan. It’s my duty to raise the next generation of the Elvhenan. How can I do that--” her voice breaks, a sob tearing from her throat. “How can I do that if I can’t have children?”

She sways on her feet and Alistair steps forward to catch her. She backs away until she bumps into a tree. “Don’t _touch_ me,” she hisses, hands moving to grab her short swords. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

He takes another step forward, then stops as she slides her swords out of their sheaths. Tears fill his own eyes as he turns to leave her alone. She drops to the ground as he leaves, burying her face in her knees and letting the tears come freely. He stops and listens to her sobs for a moment, trying to calm the ones that threaten to come from himself.

He never grew up thinking he would have children. He spent most of his life in the Chantry. Templars don’t marry. He was always careful, never letting himself be with a woman because he didn’t want to father any bastards. He didn’t want to continue _that_ Theirin tradition. When he found out that the taint causes infertility, he was nothing but relieved. He never once thought Harea might have another reaction.

When he starts to move again, Wynne is standing in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. “I didn’t mean to upset either of you.” He shrugs, trying to come up with a joke to brush her concern away. There isn’t one. “Shall I see to her?”

Alistair nods and pushes past the mage, going directly to his tent to lay down. He isn’t tired yet, but he can’t bare to look at the others around the fire, at the space where Harea should be beside him. At least in bed he can close his eyes and pretend that everything is still okay.

\---

Harea starts sleeping in Morrigan’s tent. Hers is the largest, true, but the two women have also formed a tentative friendship in their time traveling together. Alistair can barely believe it. Morrigan always looks at him with undisguised contempt, but she accepts Harea with only the slightest of sneers.

It all started when Harea found Flemeth’s grimoire in the Circle. If Morrigan is going to suffer anyone’s conversation, it’s Harea’s.

And now they’re spending even more time together as Harea avoids Alistair completely. She won’t look at him, even as he tries to apologize both for not telling her sooner and for not understanding faster why she got so upset.

It makes fighting through the Brecilian Forest awkward.

What should have been a simple detour to speak with the clan’s Keeper turns into a days-long quest for a wolf named Witherfang so they can break a centuries old curse. A curse that is turning their people into werewolves.

If someone had told Alistair that less than a year after joining the Wardens he would be fighting werewolves in an elven ruin, he would have laughed at them. But now, here he is, his sword buried to the hilt in a werewolf’s heart, and he isn’t even surprised anymore.

He just wants Harea to forgive him. He wants to see her smile again. He wants to hear her laugh. Even if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, he just wants her to be _happy._ If that means he can’t kiss or touch her anymore… he won’t be okay, but he’ll live with it. All he wants is for her to smile again.

She cries again after they have to kill Witherfang. This time she doesn’t hide it, she just lets the tears fall silently as she cleans her swords. Alistair wants to go to her; he hovers nearby but Wynne pulls him back and Morrigan is the one who lays a gentle hand on Harea’s back.

Back in the Dalish camp, Harea flits away from them, finding solace in others of her kind. She speaks their language, reminding herself of the home she’s left behind, and the home she won’t be able to find again. One of the older elven men--Varathorn, Alistair remembers, who asked for ironbark--knew her father before he died.

She sits with him for hours, long after the rest of her group has set up their own tents for the night, settled at his knee like a child. He tells her all he remembers of her parents, people she’s never known. She cries again, and he comforts her with quiet words and a soft hand patting her hair.

Then he says the one thing she needs to hear: “Your father believed we should not be so afraid of the shemlen. He wanted us to be able to trade with them, to get along with them more openly. I know you are afraid, da’len, but you need to embrace this new path the Creators have given to you.”

Harea raises her head from where it rests on his knee, meeting his gaze through a cloud of tears. She blinks, clearing her vision, and he smiles. “Truly?”

“Truly.” He smiles and pats her hand. “Now, let an old man rest.”

She smiles and bows her head graciously, allowing him to return to his aravel to sleep. She climbs into Morrigan’s tent, settling in next to the already sleeping witch, and lies awake late into the night, turning the elf’s words over and over in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned before that communication is important?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harea's ready to talk to Alistair again after their fight, but a sudden darkspawn attack means they need to have a completely different conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter is NSFW. Tags have been updated!

Harea wants to speak with Alistair, but she wants to do it privately. She wants to explain to him better why she lost her temper, why she panicked, why she’s been avoiding him for days. They resume their trek across Ferelden early in the morning and walk until it begins to grow dark again.

They set up their tents, start a fire, and Alistair throws dinner into a pot. Harea watches her little group moving with such practiced efficiency, a small smile playing on her face. They’ve become her new clan, working together just as her old one used to whenever they moved to a new place.

She waits until Alistair looks like he’s done with the stew to approach him. He sees her coming and tries hard to keep the hopeful smile off of his face. He actually bites his lip as she sits down next to him by the fire and takes his hand in hers.

“Alistair--” she starts, but before she can get more words out, Sten is yelling out a war cry.

The sound of Shrieks fills the air as they’re suddenly surrounded by darkspawn. The fiends have snuck up on them somehow, perhaps because Alistair and Harea were too caught up in what’s happening between them to pay attention to the signs.

They leap apart and unsheathe their weapons, immediately diving into the fray. Harea focuses in on the darkspawn in front of her, slashing fiercely through their skin. Their blood splatters over her armor, coating her face and seeping into her hair. She howls her anger, slaying each beast as it approaches her.

Her party quickly dispatches their attackers, each member making at least one kill. Harea turns, blades gripped firmly, ready to sink them into the final darkspawn when her whole world stutters to a stop.

Before her stands Tamlen. Or… what used to be Tamlen. He doesn’t have his weapons drawn; his hands are hanging loose by his sides. Their eyes meet, and for a long moment neither of them breathes.

Then, suddenly, his voice breaks through the earth-shattering silence that has surrounded her. “Lethallan!” He doesn’t sound like she remembers. His voice is more hoarse, throat corrupted by the taint. “Don’t come near me! Stay away!” Instead of attacking, he turns and runs.

Without thought, Harea turns and chases him to the edge of their camp. She skids to a stop in front of him, legs shaking. She’s only managed to hold on to one of her swords, and she nearly drops that too. “Tamlen? Tamlen, I can help you. Please.” Tears are pouring down her face again. How many times must she grieve the loss of her old life?

“No,” he rasps. “No help for me. Please, stop me. I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes are black, sunken in. His skin has turned grey from the darkspawn corruption, and when he bares his teeth at her she can see his gums too have turned black. “I always loved you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

And then he attacks, lunging at her with his bare hands. She again acts without thinking, letting his momentum drive him down onto her blade. It slices through him easily, and his blood pools onto her hand and drips down between them.

For that one moment, their bodies pressed together, she sees what she lost that day when he touched the mirror. A normal future with him and barefoot elven children. His eyes open as he dies, the last of whatever life is still inside of him slipping away, and she sees the inky blackness within.

He isn’t her Tamlen. Her Tamlen has been dead for a long time.

They fall to the ground together, and she pushes him off of her sword, curling around herself. Alistair is at her side in a heartbeat, sword drawn, wrapping his free arm around her to pull her away from Tamlen’s body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice breathless. She shakes her head and lets him hold her until he remembers himself. He pulls away and helps her stand, dropping her hand immediately. She longs for him; the emptiness is nearly pulling her apart. “Who was that?”

She tears her gaze away from Alistair’s blood splattered face, looking down at the body in front of her. She reaches into her armor for the amulet, yanking it until the chain breaks. Alistair watches her movements with a frown.

“He was my husband, once,” she says, voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Now… now he is nothing.” She drops the amulet beside him, and turns to walk back to the camp.

The entire party packs up in silence, moving without even confirming the plan. They can’t stay where darkspawn corpses have piled up, and they are too numerous to burn without the stench overpowering them.

They walk until they find a river and set up at its bank. Harea sets off by herself, stripped of her armor and carrying only one of her swords with her for protection. She dives into the deep water, letting it wash away the blood and despair that has settled into her skin and hair. She bought some lavender soap from the Dalish clan, and she uses it eagerly, watching the suds float downstream in the moonlight.

Finally clean, she dries and dresses herself before returning to camp. She retires to Alistair’s tent without eating dinner or speaking to him, laying on her side and staring blankly at the shadows playing on the canvas wall from the fire.

Alistair hesitates outside of his tent. Does she want him to join her? What other reason could she have for being in his bedroll?

Drawing a deep, fortifying breath, Alistair opens the flap and steps inside. She blinks up at him, unmoving but very much awake. He sits down next to her, crossing his legs, careful not to touch.

She sits up too, mimicking his posture, and folds her hands in her lap. “I owe you an explanation,” she says quietly, then raises her hand at the beginning of his denial. “I do. Just listen.” She waits until he nods before continuing. “I was in an arranged marriage for two weeks before I contracted the taint. My husband, Tamlen, disappeared at the same time. Duncan assured me he was dead.” Alistair’s shoulders slump as she speaks, but she continues without crying.

“I did not love him, not yet, but we  _ were _ married. I was  _ trying _ to love him. We planned to have children. We wanted to help our culture survive. When he disappeared, everything was taken away from me. I lost my home, my clan, and my future. I can’t go back home. I can’t have children. I can’t help my culture live.

“I should have told you everything sooner, and I’m sorry I made you guess what I was feeling. Seeing Tamlen like that… watching him die by my hand after suffering for months from the taint…” she stops and clears her throat. “It just proved something to me.”

She falls silent and waits for Alistair to meet her eyes before continuing. “I have a new home. A new family. A new man that I love.”

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s trying to say. When he finally hears the word  _ love,  _ a slow smile takes over his face. He blinks once at her, then says, “You love me.”

She nods, even though he didn’t say it like a question. “I do. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. And I’m sorry I yelled at you in the forest.” She reaches her hands out for him to hold, to show he forgives her, but he moves faster than she thought possible to gather her in his arms and crush her to his chest.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, just like he loved doing before their fight. He inhales deeply and almost cries when he realizes she smells like lavender soap again, not lemon like she did after their night at the inn. She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck, holding him just as tightly as he was holding her.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

He nods against her neck, but doesn’t speak. He just squeezes her tighter until she lets out a gasping breath. He releases her, pulling back enough to look at her face. Her cheeks are pink from laugher and lack of air, and he cups her face with both hands.

“I love you,” he breathes, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. His sun is back in his life, shining brighter than ever before.

She bites her lip, suddenly shy. “I love you.”

He moves forward, slowly, to press his mouth to hers. Her eyes flutter closed immediately, and she sighs against his touch. She adjusts herself so she’s straddling his lap and deepens the kiss. Their lips and tongues move together slowly, sending thrills through each of them. She fights the tears that threaten to overwhelm her, but they run down her cheeks anyway.

Alistair pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against hers. He wipes her tears with his thumbs, a motion familiar to both of them. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “I just love you.” His smile is blinding for the moment before he kisses her again, harder this time, moving his hands to slide under her shirt. He lets them rest against the bare skin of her waist, and she pulls away from him to tug her tunic over her head.

As always, she left her breast band off when she dressed after her bath, and Alistair’s large hands immediately move to cup the supple flesh she revealed to him. She moans into his mouth as his calloused fingers tease her. Where did her tentative shemlen go, the one who was afraid to be touched? He’s been replaced with this confident man, who rolls his hips against hers as he pulls her earlobe into his mouth, making her squirm in his embrace.

She has both her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging at it before he acquiesces and pulls it off over his head. It joins hers on the floor of the tent, and she presses forward against him until he falls back with a laugh. She hovers over him, arms on either side of his head, and opens her mouth to speak when he interrupts her by pushing her hips up until he can lean forward and pull one of her pink nipples into his mouth.

Surprised, she has to bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out his name, letting the whole camp know what they’re doing. He smiles against her skin, tongue swirling around her nipple, moving from one breast to the other, until she sits up with a grunt, moving out of his reach.

“Alistair,” she murmurs. “Please.”

He blinks up at her, his hands still on her hips. “Please what?”

She huffs out a breath. “Alistair, ma’lath, I want you.  _ Sathan _ . Please.”

He smiles up at her as a tremor runs through him. He grips her hips tighter, pulling her down as he thrusts up gently. She leans her head back and bites her lips again, muffling a groan of pleasure. “Tell me what you want.”

She runs her fingers over his chest, rasping slightly with her nails, smiling at the way it makes him close his eyes and lean his head back. “Sathan, vera em su tarasyl. Please, make love to me.” Alistair catches his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, and Harea bites the inside of her lip. “I love you, and I want to be with you. If you’re not ready, I can--”

Her world spins as Alistair flips them over, pinning her beneath him on the bedroll. She gasps, and he uses the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth, kissing her until she can no longer breathe. He rolls his hips against hers and swallows her moan, still searching for the words to answer her question.

She seems to understand, kissing him back as fiercely as she can, holding onto him with all of her strength until he finally pulls away to look at her. One of his hands trails down her side, and his fingers tuck inside the waist of her leggings.

He leans down to nibble at the line of her jaw, smiling against her skin as she sighs. “I want to do something first,” he murmurs, quietly enough that it takes her a moment to realize he’s spoken. When his words make their way through her cloud of desire and she notices that he’s gently pulling at her trousers, she smiles down at him.

“Yes, please,” she gasps out, momentarily blinded by the dazzling smile he gives her in return. “Anything.” 

Alistair moves immediately, slipping the fingers of both hands into the waistband of her leggings, pulling them down over her hips and past the curve of her ass. She lifts her hips to help him, kicking her pants free of her feet as soon as she can. He pauses then, taking the opportunity to drink in the sight before him.

He’s kissed and touched her willing body, and he’s dreamed of this moment more times than he should admit, but his dreams couldn’t capture the way his heart swells as she gazes up at him with complete trust written across her delicate features.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until she shifts under his gaze, blushing and moving to cover herself. He stops her by reaching out to grab one hand, twining their fingers together. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and her light laughter fills their tent. His kiss silences her, transforming her laugh to a moan as his mouth trails hot kisses down her neck.

He moves slowly across her skin, like he has all the time in the world, worshipping each inch of her the way she deserves. He was a poor student as a child, but never has a subject captivated him like Harea. He tries to memorize the way she sighs under his touch, gasps when he presses his teeth into her flesh, and moans when he soothes bitten skin with his tongue. He remembers where she shies away from his touch, a little giggle undercutting the moans, saving those spots in his mind for the future.

Maker willing, there will be many more times in their future.

When he finally reaches his destination, he can feel her quaking under his touch. She bites her lower lip as he settles his broad shoulders between her thighs, gripping the blanket under them in her fists, then closes her eyes to focus on the feel of him.

Alistair still takes his time, kissing the soft skin on the inside of her thighs, running his tongue along a short scar he finds there. He nuzzles against the thatch of dark hair that curls around the apex of her thighs, breathing in the sweet scent of her arousal. 

Encouraged by the little sounds she can’t contain, Alistair plants a kiss on her mound and smiles as she arches her hips towards his face. Tightening his grip on her thighs, Alistair draws her closer to him and runs his tongue along her folds. She squirms at the light contact, desperate for more, and he eagerly obeys.

His tongue delves into her, teasing at first but quickly providing the pressure she craves. He presses against her bud, pulling it into his mouth to gently suck on before swirling his tongue around it. Harea squeezes her eyes shut and puts one foot on his back, urging him closer. He smiles at her eagerness, gripping her hips more tightly in his hands.

She loves the little promise of pain in his fingers, one she knows he would never fulfill unless she asked for it. He uses his strength to hold her open for him, tilting her opening up towards his face. She bucks against his mouth, chasing her own pleasure even as he willingly gives it to her.

She whines as he pushes her to the brink, holding here there for longer than she thought possible. He can feel her thighs shaking by his ears, and the realization that she is so eager for him makes him moan against her. The vibration and the sound push her even higher, and after a quiet warning “ _ Alistair! _ ” she finds her release, plunging blindly over the edge as waves of pleasure wash over her. She curls in on herself, pressing her entrance against his mouth as he continues lapping up her arousal.

When she relaxes away from him, Alistair wipes his mouth with a pleased grin on his face. He’s really too smug for his own good, proud of the way he can give his love so much pleasure with just his tongue. He kisses his way up her stomach, between her breasts, to her lips, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She moans again as she tastes herself on him, wrapping her hands around him and holding him as tightly as she can.

She pulls away from his kiss to catch her breath. “Do you want to--” she lets her words trail off and her hands finish the question, running them down his back and into the waistband of his trousers. She rests them lightly against the warm skin of his ass, a soft invitation that he knows he can deny.

But he doesn’t want to deny it. “Maker,  _ yes, _ ” he groans, hazel eyes opening just enough to look at her in the dim light. His hand is between them in an instant, impatiently tugging on his trouser ties and pushing the offending garment away. She helps as much as she can, but he doesn’t move to pull his pants off completely. 

Once his cock is free, he guides it to her entrance, and holds it there. Their eyes meet, his with a question and hers with all of the love she feels for this man, this sweet man, who tries to be so careful with her.

“Are you ready?” his voice is breathless, the question whispering across her flushed skin.

She nods and rolls her hips up towards him, helping him enter her. He moves slowly, pressing his face into the crook of her neck to help muffle the satisfied groan that rumbles up from his chest. When he is fully sheathed within her, he holds still, taking steadying breaths. She relaxes around him, running her hands over his back.

He tries to recite the Chant in his head to distract himself from the sensation of her tight walls surrounding him, but all he can remember is one line:  _ you composed the cadence of my heart.  _ His heart beats for her, and he moves slowly inside of her, wanting to stay there for as long as he can. She holds him tightly, one hand on his back, the other tangled in his hair, murmuring gentle words he cannot understand.

He can feel his release building quickly, and he whines against her shoulder. She tightens her grip on him and meets each thrust of his hips with one of her own. He catches his breath and in the silence he hears her whisper, “Alistair, I love you,” and that’s all he needs to hear. He spills himself inside of her with a hoarse cry, muffled as he presses his face closer to her shoulder. Her arms encircle him, holding him against her.

He stays inside of her until he starts to grow soft again, then he rolls onto his side. She hisses as their bodies separate, but he immediately pulls her against him. She tucks her head against his chest, fitting perfectly under his chin, and he pulls their blanket over them to ward off the chill.

She traces patterns on his ribs with one finger, fighting the sleep that threatens to overwhelm her. “Was that okay?” she asks, a hint of a smile in her voice.

He laughs then, the sound rumbling under her face. “That was perfect, my dear,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

She smiles fully, relaxing completely into his touch. “And I love you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When King Harrowmont sends Harea into the Deep Roads, she leaves Alistair behind so that at least one Grey Warden will remain safe. The trip takes longer than she expected, and she is happy when they finally make it back to Orzammar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact, I realized when I went to do a last-minute edit of this chapter that I had two labeled "chapter eight." Which means that we actually have sixteen chapters total instead of fifteen!
> 
> Anyway. The second half of this is NSFW. Still practicing my smut-writing skills, but I think I've been steadily improving.

Harea pulls her sword from Branka’s body with a grimace. They’ve spent three weeks-- _ three weeks-- _ searching the Deep Roads and abandoned thaigs for this woman, and as soon as they find her it turns out she’s been sacrificing her family and creating darkspawn in her quest for the Anvil. Harea can’t help but see the face of every darkspawn she’s slaughtered, feel every wound she’s received, when she looks down at the Paragon’s lifeless form.

If Branka hadn’t lost herself in this quest, none of this would have happened.

Oghren, the drunken dwarf who somehow was  _ married  _ to this woman, has stalked away from their little group to stare out over the lava that runs through the cavern, fueling Carridan’s forge. He’s been nothing but bluster the entire time they’ve been fighting together, and even though she knows he’s angry at her, Harea is grateful for the reprieve.

All she wants to do is curl up and go to sleep, even here on the stone floor amid the empty golem shells. She feels weak all over, empty after so long underground. She is  _ Dalish;  _ she needs to have the sky over her head and dirt under her toes. And Alistair in her arms, but not because she’s Dalish, because she loves him.

He’s still in Orzammar, housed in Harrowmont’s estate, even after loudly protesting being left behind. They fought fiercely over it, raising their voices and sending their companions running away from them. Alistair gave in only after she tearfully said she couldn’t lose him and that it only made sense for at least one Grey Warden to stay safe.

The fight had to stop so he could kiss her tears away and hold her close. It’s rare that they’re able to be together without having to worry about their safety, and even after yelling at each other it was more than they could resist.

They said their goodbyes slowly, lingering in their touches, taking advantage of their newfound privacy. They stayed awake late into the night, much later than they should have, joining together until they were both completely spent.

That memory has kept her going in the darkness, even as weeks of sweat and darkspawn blood dried on her skin and crusted in her hair, desperate to return as quickly as they can. Now that they’ve found their Paragon to weigh in on the election, they just have to wait a few more minutes. He’s forging a crown for them, then they can return.

Hopefully the trip back to Orzammar will go faster with fewer darkspawn and giant spiders to fight through. Harea shudders at the memory of the sticky silk trapping her, unable to even move her arms to free herself. Just another thing to work its way into her nightmares.

Morrigan calls her name, impatience lacing the witch’s voice. Carridan finished the crown and is holding it in his large stone hands, waiting for her to accept it and the burden it symbolizes. She has to choose the new king of Orzammar.

\---

It only took a little more than week for her little party to make it back to Orzammar. With most of the darkspawn gone--either to the surface or under their blades--they could spend their days covering the distance between them and their destination instead of fighting.

They emerge into the relative brightness of the Orzammar commons without fanfare, the whole group pausing to let their eyes adjust. No one is there except for the usual guards, who all look like they’ve seen a ghost when Harea blinks down at them.

Word of their arrival moves faster than they can walk, tired as they are after more than a month in the Deep, and by the time they’ve made it to the estate they’re being escorted past it and into the Assembly Chamber to deliver their news.

Alistair is waiting for them, bouncing on his toes even in his heavy armor, and he breaks into a huge smile as soon as he sees the party. He starts to move towards Harea, ready to scoop her up into his arms darkspawn blood be damned, when Wynne gently places her hand on his arm to hold him back. He frowns down at her, but obeys, and Harea hears Morrigan snort next to her.

Harea delivers her news quickly, passing Carridan’s crown to Harrowmont, and is insensed when Bhelen tries to attack his king. She stays long enough to dispatch the rebels before pushing her way through the crowd to leave the Chamber.

She makes it all the way to her room in the Harrowmont estate before Alistair catches up with her. He bursts into her room just seconds after she closes the door, before she has time to do anything more than remove her weapons. He slams the door behind him as he rushes across the room to gather her up in a bone-crushing hug, lifting her off of her feet until her toes are dangling in the air.

“I missed you.” His admission is muffled in her hair, and she wraps her arms around him in return, running her fingers into his auburn locks. It’s longer than it was when she left, waves starting to form around the edges.

“I missed you too,” she says, barely containing her laugh. “But I haven’t had a bath in a month and I’m disgusting.”

He just holds her tighter even as she squirms in his arms. “Don’t care,” he mutters. “Missed you.” 

She huffs out a laugh and lets him hold her for another few moments until he finally sets her down. He puts his hands on her face, tilting her head back so he can look at her. She blushes under the intensity of his gaze, but lets him examine her. His hands slide down her shoulders and arms, then settle on her waist, as if checking to be sure it’s really her.

Finally, he leans in and presses a light kiss to her forehead. “You do stink,” he says, like he’s just discussing the weather. She giggles and turns away from him, moving deeper into her room for the large tub the servants set up in the corner. It’s full of fragrant water, still steaming, and she immediately starts unbuckling her armor.

He moves to help her, fingers easily finding the ties holding the layers of leather and chainmail in place. He takes each piece and sets it carefully aside, and turns to leave as she strips out of the final layers of cloth that cling to her body.

“Alistair?” He stops as she calls for him, and in the silence he can hear the water lapping at the edge of the tub. “You can stay and help if you want.” He turns slowly to stare at her. She’s peering at him over the edge of the tub, eyes dancing in the dim light.

When he doesn’t move, she raises out of the water a little, tempting him with a glimpse of the tops of her breasts. “I guess the dwarves are only used to fat human kings visiting, because this tub is definitely big enough for both of us.”

She turns away from him, rotating in the water until she can grab the bar of soap. She ignores the sounds of Alistair’s plate armor being stacked on the table, working up a good lather with her hands. She ducks her head under the water, wetting her hair, and when she comes back up Alistair is stepping in behind her.

The tub isn’t quite big enough for both of them, and he pulls her into his lap to make room. She fits against him easily, sighing in contentment as she relaxes against his now-familiar body. He plucks the soap from her hands and moves to wash her hair, rubbing soothing circles into her scalp, rinsing out the sweat as she washes her arms.

She’s soon moaning under his touch, and he moves the soap to wash her shoulders, massaging the tense muscles, before moving to her chest. She presses back against him as he palms her breasts, pinching her peaked nipples just hard enough to make her gasp and moan. Each movement of his fingers stoked the fire between her legs, long since neglected.

He presses kisses to the back of her neck, draws the point of her ear into his mouth to suck on it. The action makes her cry out as his tongue smoothes over the sensitive flesh, and she presses her hips back against his, making him moan in return. One hand slips down from her breast to settle between her legs, fingers rubbing gentle circles around her opening, teasing her, making her moans come louder.

He swirls a finger around her pearl and bucks his hips up against her ass without really intending to. She hisses at the contact and lifts away from him so that she can fit one hand between them to grasp his rigid length. She positions herself over him, hesitating just long enough for him to prepare, before sliding down, taking him fully inside of her.

She leans forward, bracing herself with arms on the edge of the tub, and breathes heavily as she stretches to accommodate his girth. His hands, warm from the bath, rub down her back and settle on her hips, squeezing the soft flesh, holding himself very still until she’s ready to begin moving again.

When she does, water sloshes over the edge of the bath, splashing onto the stone floor. Neither of them see it; they each have their eyes tightly closed against the sensation of their joining, moans mingling together and echoing around the room.

Alistair uses his hands to guide her movements, helping her keep a rhythm that satisfies them both. Goosebumps cover what skin is out of the water even as sweat begins to bead along his forehead. He resists the urge to lean his head back, and he opens his eyes, wanting to watch her every movement. Her muscles, taut under her skin, ripple with her every thrust, and he runs one hand over her back in wonder. What has he done to deserve such an amazing woman?

Harea bares down on him hard, leaning so that with each thrust he hits the spot inside of her that makes her keen for him. Alistair runs one hand up her back to her neck, pulling her back so that he can bury his face where her shoulder meets her neck. He nuzzles against her, then bites her skin, sucking a dark bruise, restating his claim on her after so much time apart. One hand reaches to their joining, his fingers drawing circles on her pearl, building her pleasure.

She shatters under his touch, her cry ringing out as her back stiffens and she clenches around him. There are stone walls separating them from their companions now, not flimsy canvas, and she lets herself go. Her cries to her gods blur into his name as he continues thrusting through her orgasm, drawing it out until he follows her over the edge. He spills himself inside of her with his face pressed against her back, her name tumbling from his lips.

She stills her movements, and they catch their breath while he’s still seated inside of her. She stands up, letting him slide out of her, and another groan leaves his chest as her ass hovers just in front of his face. He grabs her thighs before she can move away and gently bites one of her cheeks, earning a squeak and a laugh from her before she steps out of the tub.

“Oh, you made a mess,” she says as her feet splash in the puddle of water surrounding the tub.

Alistair arches one eyebrow at her. “Did that by myself, did I?”

She nods solemnly and grabs one of her towels to wrap around herself. The grime of the last month gone, her skin is back to its normal gentle tan, the color lighter than usual after so long underground. She offers him another towel from the pile and he stands, sloshing more water onto the floor, before taking it.

With a smirk, she turns away from him and drops the towel to the floor as she saunters to the bed, swaying her hips carefully with each step.

A mumbled, “Maker’s breath,” behind her, a thump of his towel joining hers, and then she’s spinning around and falling back onto the bed. Alistair descends on her, kissing her roughly, immediately turning her laugh into another loud moan.

He kisses over to her ear, then whispers, “You left me for a whole month, my dear. You have some time to make up for.”

She arches her head back and digs her fingernails into the taut muscles of his back, murmuring, “Alistair,  _ yes, _ ” before he devours her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for the Landsmeet, so Harea and Alistair have to talk about their future. After they escape from Fort Drakon, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW in the middle. Important(er) stuff before and after.
> 
> I think this is the time to mention that [this drawing of Alistair by froschkuss](http://froschkuss.tumblr.com/post/148851995629/after-training) is the Alistair I pictured while writing this fic.

Harea isn’t sure why the guards in Fort Drakon felt the need to strip them of all of their clothes, but she’s grateful for the way Alistair is using his larger body to shield her from their prying eyes. He has her sitting in the corner of the cell, her body folded in on itself and tucked against his broad chest. He has his back to the guards, his face pressed into the crook of her neck, and she can feel him absolutely quaking with anger.

She runs her fingers over his arm, trying to pull him out of his thoughts. “We’re safe,” she croons. “It’s okay.” His anger is distracting her from her own, giving her something to focus on past how Anora betrayed them.

He grumbles something that sounds blasphemous before he picks his head up enough for her to be able to actually hear his words. “If Leliana doesn’t show up to get us out of here, I’m going to murder these men with my bare hands.”

The venom in his voice makes her catch her breath. “I’m fine, Alistair. They didn’t hurt me.”

His arms tighten around her, nearly crushing the breath out of her. “And they  _ won’t. _ ”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she tilts her head to the side so she can reach his mouth, brushing her lips against his before allowing him to bury his face in her hair once more.

He sighs. “Once this is all over, I’m never letting you be in danger again.”

She scoffs a little, not really meaning to. “How are you going to stop me?”

He shrugs a little; she can feel the movement jostling her. “I’m sure I can think of something. As soon as the archdemon is dead, I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” He pauses, thinking. She can hear the smile in his voice when he suggests, “Maybe I can tie you to our bed.”

She clears her throat and ducks her head, hoping he won’t sense the blush creeping across her face. “ _ Our  _ bed, is it?”

He moves to press a chaste kiss to the back of her shoulder then rests his chin on it so their cheeks are touching. “I certainly hope so. Unless you’re planning on getting rid of me after this.” He says it with a half-smile, turning to nuzzle against her face, but she knows there’s a real question hidden under his joke.

Their future  _ does _ need to be talked about, especially now that the civil war looks like it’s almost at its end. She can’t see beyond the end of the Blight, but with Eamon angling to make Alistair king of Ferelden, she needs to ask--

The sound of choking and a body dropping to the floor surprises them, and they both turn to see Leliana and Fen the mabari gazing at them through the bars of their cell. Fen barks happily when he sees his master is alive, and his tail wags so quickly that his whole body shakes with the effort of it. Leliana is smirking at them, the guard’s keys hanging off of her outstretched finger.

“Shall I let you out, or do you two need a few more minutes?” Her voice is full of laughter, the tone completely at odds with the pool of blood growing at her feet.

Harea beams at her friend, disentangling herself from her lover’s embrace without hesitation. “I knew you’d come,” she says, leaning casually against the bars nearest Leliana like she isn’t nearly naked and shivering in the palace dungeon. “Let me out, please.”

With a wink, Leliana obeys. Harea and Alistair quickly pull their armor back on, grab their weapons, and follow Leliana back out of the fortress.

\---

Harea has a few choice words for Anora when they make it back to Eamon’s Denerim estate. Fortunately for everyone, they are in elven, and only her tone makes her meaning understandable. She flushes hotly, letting the queen know  _ exactly  _ where to go and  _ exactly _ what Fen’Harel should do to her when she gets there, stopping only when Alistair grabs her hand and tugs on it insistently.

Anora pales under the tirade but keeps her head up high, every bit a queen. Eamon gapes at Harea, aghast, and waits as Alistair tries to correct her behavior.

“Harea, love, she’s the  _ queen. _ You can’t talk to her like that.”

Harea rounds on him, full ire directed at him. He takes a step away from her, releasing her hand like it’s burned him. “She isn’t  _ my  _ queen,” she hisses, vision flaring red. “I would never bow to a shemlen, especially not one who betrays us at the first sign of trouble.” She turns on her heel and stalks from the room, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

Alistair stares after her, then turns to look at Anora with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, your majesty,” he manages to stammer out, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

She waves her hand and lets herself sink into Eamon’s desk chair. “It is no matter,” she murmurs. “Perhaps when she is calm, you can bring her back and we can all talk about this like  _ civilized  _ people.” She emphasizes  _ civilized,  _ and Alistair narrows his eyes at her, but excuses himself with a quick bow.

He finds Harea in her room, already stripped of her armor but pacing in tight circles in front of the fireplace, ignoring the heated bath. He shuts the door behind him, locking it quietly, then stands with his back against the wood, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“I can’t believe it,” she finally says, rounding on him. “She just expects us to be  _ okay  _ with what she did?” When Alistair doesn’t respond, she resumes pacing around her room, muttering to herself in her native tongue.

Alistair watches her move, waiting until he sees her shoulders start to slump. She’s worn herself out, her anger burned through, and she falls against Alistair’s chest when he reaches out to pull her into his arms. She sniffles quietly, pressing her face into his armor.

“We could have  _ died. _ ” Her voice is muffled, but he can hear her clearly enough. He strokes her hair, fingers tangling in the knots in her braid, as she starts to cry. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, holding her tightly until she’s completely spent.

He guides her to the bed and lays her down, pulling an extra blanket up to cover her. She keeps his hand tight in hers, clasping it until he leans down to kiss her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. Just let me take off my armor.”

She releases him then and watches as he strips down to his trousers and tunic. She closes her eyes, and he climbs in bed behind her, curling around her until she’s pressed back against his chest and their legs are tangled together. She grabs his hand again, holding tightly onto his fingers, clutching them as she falls into a troubled sleep.

\---

A headache pulses behind her eyes, and she gives in to the impulse to rest her face in her hands. They’ve been arguing for what feels like hours, and even Alistair’s calm presence by her side isn’t enough to quell her rising temper.

Eamon has some strong feelings about who should rule Ferelden. Alistair is the last of the Theirin line, even if he wasn’t raised as an official member of the royal family. Apparently he looks enough like Cailan and Maric that his ancestry isn’t in question--just his ability to be a good ruler.

Anora, as the current queen, is pretty set on staying on the throne. She has the experience and breeding necessary to keep control over the country, provided that her father is out of the picture. She and Eamon are arguing as heatedly as nobles are willing to argue, going back and forth on the topic without making any decision regarding the future of their country. Alistair is silent, focusing on the plate of warm food and mug of ale the maids are keeping full. The maids’ attentions aren’t lost on Harea, only adding to her headache.

Finally, Eamon says something that makes everything make more sense, reigniting the rage that had spilled over earlier that afternoon.

“Your experience and diplomacy are valuable skills, your highness, even necessary ones, but the fact remains that Alistair is the last of Calenhad’s line, and he  _ needs  _ to be on the throne too.”

Harea slams her hand down on the table, startling Eamon into silence and drawing everyone’s attention to her. Alistair eyes her warily, but shoves a new bite of mutton into his mouth regardless.

“You want Alistair to marry Anora so they can rule together?” Alistair chokes on his meal and has to take a deep swig of ale before his sputtering stops. Everyone at the table ignores him. “You must be joking.”

Eamon looked from Harea’s stormy expression to Alistair’s embarrassed one before sighing gently. “Since you mention it… that would solve many of our problems.”

Anora smiles thinly as Harea’s scowl deepens. “Ignoring that the man looks so much like Cailan--my recently-dead husband, if you’ll recall--my main fear is that he’ll govern like Cailan as well.”

“Are you serious?” Alistair’s voice, a little higher than usual, is indignant. “No. Never mind. I-I don’t even want to hear the rest of this. You keep talking about me, and I’ll just sit here with my fingers in my ears.”

Harea swallows hard, trying to look past her immediate feeling of  _ no.  _ She might not care about who rules Ferelden or how well, but she does need their help against the darkspawn, and it’s clear that Loghain can’t become king or even remain as regent. Whether or not he needs to be replaced with Alistair and whether or not he needs to  _ marry  _ Anora are completely different questions.

If that’s the sacrifice they need to make to ensure they can slay the archdemon… aren’t Grey Wardens supposed to make every effort to stop a Blight? Whatever it takes, right?

She huffs out a breath. “If--if that’s what would be best--” Fen’Harel take her, why is this  _ her  _ decision? She isn’t even a Fereldan citizen. “I guess that’s what we need to do.”

“You can _ not  _ be serious,” Alistair mutters next to her, pushing away from the table. He stalks away without another word, Eamon watching Alistair’s movements with his usual frown.

Anora smiles, the expression making Harea immediately feel like she’s made a mistake. “Are you truly so eager to pawn the lad off on me? I rather got the sense that you two might be…” She pauses, then says, “Perhaps we should speak more of this later, just the two of us girls.” Harea narrows her eyes but nods, and the queen rises and glides out of the room.

Eamon opens his mouth to say something to Harea, but she can’t listen to his voice anymore. She just pushes away from the table, grabbing her glass of wine and the decanter from the center of the table before striding away.

Alistair isn’t in his room when she looks, but she finds him waiting for her in hers. He’s sitting on her bed with his back to the door. He doesn’t move when she locks it behind her, doesn’t acknowledge her until she crawls onto the bed behind him to wrap her arms around him.

“Talk to me,” she says, resting her cheek on his back.

His head bows as he lets out a deep breath. “Do you  _ want _ me to be king?”

“You would be a great king,” she says, not quite answering his question. “You’re kind and honorable. You would do great things for your people.”

He grunts, unconvinced, not noticing the way she slipped around what he wanted to know. “Do you  _ want  _ me to marry Anora?”

“She’s already the queen. Eamon’s right; keeping her on the throne would be the easiest for everyone to accept. She apparently ruled for Cailan, so she’ll be able to do the hard work for you too.”

This time he hears the way she doesn’t answer him, and he spins around on the bed to look at her. “I  _ asked _ if you want me to marry Anora.” She flushes and looks away, so he grasps her hands. “Do you want me to marry another woman?”

She grunts. “No.”

“Then why would you ever suggest such a thing?” His hands tighten on hers, not quite enough to be painful, but hard enough to keep her attention.

She still won’t look at him, her dark eyes searching for anything else to hold her attention. “Eamon was dancing around it. Someone had to say it or we’d be in that blighted room all night.” She pauses, then finally looks at him. “Wardens fight Blights by  _ any means necessary,  _ right?” He nods, so she continues. “If one of those means is you marrying that… that  _ harpy _ , then I can’t stand in the way.”

Alistair clenches his jaw and briefly closes his eyes. He’s trying to catch his breath, find the words that are swirling around his head. Maker, it’s so difficult for him to speak to her sometimes. Sharing his feelings has never been easy, and with her, they’re so much  _ deeper.   _

He settles for kissing her, his tongue immediately delving into her mouth. She opens to him with a surprised gasp, and he presses closer to her, moving her until she’s lying across the bed and he’s settled between her thighs. His hands let hers go to cup her face, to run into her hair and hold her close to him.

He’s heavy, all solid muscles and soft stomach, pressing her into the mattress until she can barely breathe. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her. She doesn’t need air, she just needs him, to feel him press against her, to let him show her how much he cares.

He moves away from her mouth with a pulling bite at her lower lip, and she draws air into her lungs like it’s her last breath. He stares down at her for a long moment, waiting for her breathing to even and her eyes to open. 

“Harea.” His gentle voice coaxes her attention back to him. “Tell me you love me.”

Tears spring to her eyes, but don’t spill. She runs her hands up his chest to cup his cheeks. “I love you.”

He rewards her with a hard kiss, bruising their lips together before pulling back again. “Tell me you want me.”

“Of course I want you.” She bucks her hips against his and he has to clench his jaw together to stay focused.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No. Tell me that you want to  _ be with me. _ ” His eyes bore into hers, and her jaw goes slack as she realizes what he’s asking.

“Alistair, my shem, ma vhenan, I  _ do _ want to be with you. You’re my home now. I love you. I don’t--I don’t ever want to lose you.” She runs her fingers into her hair and pulls his face down for a kiss. He complies, but only briefly, before abruptly pulling away to jog from the room.

She immediately jumps up and chases him, following him down the hall to his room. He doesn’t acknowledge her as she shuts the door behind them and waits beside it with her hands on her hips. He stands in front of a chest of drawers, rifling through one of the drawers for something.

When he finds what he’s looking for, he crosses back to her in just a few long strides. He shoves her back against the door, arms circling her waist and mouth pressing to hers. She responds eagerly, wrapping one leg around his hip to pull him closer.

He grinds against her, one hand moving to grasp her thigh, squeezing the solid muscles. He moves his lips from her mouth to her jawline, leaving a trail of hot kisses up to her ear. 

“You’re  _ mine, _ ” he growls, and she nods, eyes tightly closed.

“ _ Yes _ . I’m yours.”

At her confirmation, he latches onto the soft skin of her neck, sucking a dark love bite onto her flesh. She gasps and arches her neck so he can have better access, fingers clutching at his back.

“And I belong to you. No one else.” She nods and he kisses her again, biting at her bottom lip. She groans at the lance of pain his teeth leave behind, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure courses through her.

When he pulls back and she can breathe again, she opens her eyes to meet his gaze. “You belong to me,” she says, and he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against hers. “You’re mine. Forever.”

He hums quietly and opens his eyes to look at her. Foreheads still pressed together, he slides his hand down her left arm, searching for her hand. She gives it to him, and he twines their fingers together for a long moment. He takes a deep breath and leans away from her slightly, moving to show her what he had been searching for.

“I got this from Wade,” he says, voice catching in his throat. He slides the iridescent burgundy ring onto her finger, watching as it fits snugly over the knuckle. It’s a simple thing with little decoration, but it makes her breath start coming in gasps that have nothing to do with the way he’s still standing between her thighs. “It’s dragonbone, same as the armor he made me. I wanted it strong enough so that it wouldn’t get damaged while we’re fighting.”

His fingers are still clasped in hers, and when he finally looks up at her he sees that her eyes are once more full of tears. She clenches her fingers around his and uses her other hand to pull his face to hers. She presses her lips to his in a searing kiss that made her legs tremble. He responds immediately, dropping her hand to grab both of her thighs.

He hauls her up and presses her against the door, holding her easily against the wood. She wraps her legs around him completely, both hands in his auburn hair, biting and sucking at his lips. He reaches between them to yank at her leggings, tearing them off of her body in his haste. She gasps and laughs as her bare ass hits the rough door behind her, but the sound is quickly overtaken in a moan as Alistair latches back onto her throat.

He removes his own trousers less violently, letting them fall around his feet. She doesn’t notice what he’s doing until his cock is poised against her entrance, sliding through her wetness. She leans her head back, thumping it against the door, and moans his name loud enough so that anyone passing by would be able to hear her.

“Yes, Alistair,  _ please.  _ Fuck me, please.”

He obeys immediately, sliding completely inside of her with one sharp thrust of his hips. He swallows her moan with a kiss, holding her still, back flat against the door, as she adjusts to the feel of him.

He begins moving as soon as she nods her consent, snapping his hips hard against hers. Each deep thrust rips a high-pitched whine from her throat, even as she bites her lip to stay quiet. Each keening cry makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst, and he tries to commit her sounds to memory.

She can hear his answering grunts over the sound of their flesh slapping together, every one sounding like a promise.

_ Yours. _

_ Yours. _

_ Yours. _

He abruptly spins away from the door and steps out of his pants as he carries her across the room. He drops her onto his bed, and she falls onto her back. He lifts one of her legs to rest on his shoulder as he continues pounding into her. With his hands no longer needed to support her weight, he can move one to their joining to rub at her little bundle of nerves.

Her cries become louder with each twist of his fingers. When she comes, it’s with a scream, arching her back as he continues to move within her. Her hands grasp helplessly at the blanket covering the bed, her new ring glinting in the lamplight.

Alistair stares at it, head spinning, and then he follows her over the brink into oblivion.

\---

They sleep for hours, then wake in the middle of the night to come together again. It’s calmer this time, more gentle, and she moves on top of him with their foreheads pressed together and his hands on her back. His fingers trace scars old and new on her skin, learning and relearning their patterns. Here, a claw mark from a wolf. There, a knot of scar tissue where she was struck by an arrow. Each one tells a story that he wants to spend the rest of his life learning.

When they are both spent, they lay tangled together. Alistair holds her left hand in his, fingers idly tracing over the ring he gave her. She watches him with heavy eyes, a small smile on her kiss-bruised lips.

“You need one to match,” she says sleepily, nuzzling against his chest. “Were there any extra bones?”

He shakes his head. “No. This was the last one.”

She sighs. “I guess we’ll just have to kill another dragon, then.”

His laughter shakes his chest, vibrating against her face. She kisses him softly, and he sighs under her touch.

“Do you like it?” he asks finally, the confident Alistair gone with his energy, replaced by the usual, self-deprecating man she loves.

She nods against him. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

He kisses the top of her head and closes his eyes, ready to fall back asleep. “Good. Never take it off.”

She laughs. “I promise. Does this mean--” she trails off, not sure how to ask her question.

“Once we defeat the archdemon and the Blight is ended, I want to make you my wife. I want to marry you and spend the rest of our lives together. You--you’re more than I ever could have imagined, Harea, and I don’t want to ever lose you.”

She sits up and presses a lingering kiss to his mouth. He smiles against her lips, hand running into her hair to hold her against him.

When he finally releases her from the kiss, she lays down across his chest, arms wrapping around him. “That sounds perfect, vhenan. I can’t wait.”

They fall asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, protecting each other even in their dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff starts to get canon-divergent going forth as we wind down. Bear with me, loves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night that Harea and Alistair learn the truth about why only a Grey Warden can end the Blight, Morrigan comes to her friend with a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence at the beginning and NSFW at the end.

Harea feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She actually takes a few steps away from Morrigan and sits down on one of the large chairs facing the fire and presses both hands to her face. The witch cants her head to the side to watch her friend’s reaction, suddenly uncertain whether her plan will work.

She wants to reassure Harea, so she tries to continue explaining: “At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.” She moves to kneel in front of her friend, and takes both of the elf’s hands in her own. “It will work, and it will  _ save your life _ .”

Harea’s head is shaking before she realizes she’s even moving. “Is this what you wanted all along?” She should be angry, but her voice is just quiet and sad. She’s fighting back tears.

Morrigan sighs softly. “It’s what my mother intended, yes.” Harea’s scowl deepens and Morrigan hurries to continue: “But I’m offering it to you now. It’s the way out… for you  _ and  _ for Alistair.”

“Alistair.” Harea says his name softly and her eyes flutter closed, fingers tightening around Morrigan’s hands. “He’ll never agree to this.”

“I think he would if it were to save your life.” Morrigan tries to keep her voice neutral. Though she cannot stand the boy, she knows Harea’s never been happier. There is no love lost between her and the other Warden, but she doesn’t want to see her friend hurt.

“He won’t want to have a bastard running around Thedas.” Harea pauses, considering, then shakes her head again. “He won’t agree to let you just take the child and leave.”

Morrigan scoffs and drops Harea’s hand to pace around the room. Harea watches the witch with a guarded expression. “But he must! It is all I ask in return.” Her hands are in fists at her sides, anger barely contained. Alistair may be a fool, but surely he isn’t so selfish.

“You don’t understand what it was like for him not to have a father. You might not have minded it, but it was different for him.” Morrigan doesn’t respond, still pacing. “I think all he’s ever wanted is a family.”

Silence falls between the two women as Morrigan looks sharply at her friend. Harea turns to gaze into the fire, unwilling to meet the witch’s gaze. Something in what she said sparked a thought in Morrigan’s mind, and she’s not sure she wants to hear what it is.

“Harea.” The elf glances back to Morrigan, surprised at her cautious tone. “Alistair said Grey Wardens cannot have children.” Harea’s face darkens and she turns away again. The tears are threatening to come back. “Do you no longer have your courses?”

Well. That isn’t the question she was expecting. She stands up to face her friend. “What?”

“Your  _ courses, _ ” Morrigan repeats, exasperation seeping into her words. “Your monthly cycle. Do you still have it?” She takes a step closer to Harea, willing her to share this information.

Blushing, Harea says, “I--yes.”

“When was the last?”

Harea closes her eyes to think back. Thinking about it is just a painful reminder of what she’s lost. “Two weeks past. Why are you asking me?”

Morrigan closes the distance between them, fingers glowing green, and places her hands on Harea’s stomach. She closes her eyes, focusing her healing magic, and nods. “The ritual could  _ possibly  _ work with you instead of me. Possibly. It will be much harder for me to confirm, and there’s every chance it will not take and you or Alistair will still have to die.” Harea wobbles on her feet as Morrigan’s words hit her, and she grabs the witch’s shoulders. “There’s a spell I can use to help, though it doesn’t always work. You will have to lay with Alistair, then come back to me so I can complete the spell.”

“You would do that?” Harea can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed at how hopeful she sounds, at the tears now finally rolling down her cheeks. “I thought--I thought you wanted the babe for yourself?”

Morrigan purses her lips. “I do. And should the child develop magical talents, I would ask you allow me to teach him. Otherwise, I will remain close, but I will stay out of your way.  _ If  _ you survive this.”

Harea surges forward and wraps Morrigan in a hug. She squeezes tighter than she meant, and Morrigan stares at the ceiling with her hands loose by her sides until Harea lets her go.

“This may not work,” Morrigan cautions again. “I can only control it so much if Alistair completes the ritual with me. That’s the only way to be sure you will survive the battle. Are you certain you wish to go about it this way?”

Harea nods and Morrigan sighs. “Very well. Dry your eyes and let me begin.”

Morrigan returns her hands to Harea’s belly, eyes closed in concentration as her lips moved, reciting an old spell. The magic works quickly, bringing color to Harea’s cheeks and stoking a fire between her legs. She adjusts herself, squeezing her thighs together as Morrigan finishes the spell with a smirk.

“Very well. If you’re sure this is what you want, come back here after the deed is done and I will try to make sure it will take.” Harea wraps Morrigan in another hug and presses her lips to the witch’s cheek. Morrigan pushes her away with a scoff. “Save that for the simpleton you insist upon staying with.” Her words hide her smile, and Harea winks at her before scurrying from her room to find Alistair in his, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her shoulders, covering up the tunic she stole from Alistair to sleep in.

When she pushes open his door, she finds him slowly removing his armor and placing it on the stand in the corner of his room. He looks over his shoulder when she enters and his face splinters into a grim smile. She shuts the door behind her and leans back against it, watching him as he finishes undressing.

He stops after letting his tunic drop to the floor and crosses the room to draw her into a tight hug. She lets him press her against his bare chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. She waits as he rocks her gently, squeezing her in his arms until he kisses the top of her head softly.

She pulls away just enough to look up at him and stretches up on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Are you doing okay?”

He shakes his head and sighs softly. “I can’t talk about it. I don’t want to think about losing you.”

She leans back farther and runs her fingers up his chest to loop behind his neck. “Then don’t. Kiss me.” She stands up on her tiptoes again, tilting her chin back as she pulls his head down to her.

He lets a small, genuine smile turn up the corners of his mouth before their lips meet. Whatever spell Morrigan worked on her is still boiling just beneath the surface of her skin, and she moans into his mouth even at the slight touch, fingers scrabbling against his neck.

He responds immediately, running his hands down to her ass to pull her closer, lifting her off of her feet and spinning them around so he can put her down on the bed. She pulls him down after her, pushing until he’s laying on his back and she can climb on top of him.

He rests his hands on her bare thighs, leaning his head back as she nibbles along his jaw to his ear, pulling the sensitive flesh into her mouth. He moans under her touch, breaths coming faster as she covers his exposed skin with open-mouthed kisses. 

She hums in contentment as she reaches between them to untie his trousers. He swallows hard as she takes his cock into her hands, stroking him to full hardness. She looks up at him as she aligns their bodies and waits for his nod before she sinks down onto him, completely enveloping him within her heat.

She throws her head back as they settle together. His fingers dig into the flesh of her hips; she’s so wet, so ready for him without any preparation. She begins moving almost immediately, using shallow thrusts to tease them both. She moves her hips in tight circles, leaning back to reach the angle she loves.

He reaches between them with one hand to rub little circles on her swollen bud. Each press with his thumb rips a sharp cry from her throat and the tightening of muscles around him. Her hands scratch at his chest, helping her stay upright until he puts his free hand on the back of her neck to pull her down for a kiss.

Their lips meet in a bruising kiss, dragging another low moan from each of them. He meets the movement of her hips with sharp thrusts of his own, increasing their pace as they move together. She presses down hard against him and bites his neck as her orgasm consumes her. He grips her hips, fingernails scratching her skin, as he holds her steady, clenching his jaw to keep from following her over the edge.

When she calms, he presses up against her to roll them over, and she relaxes onto the mussed blankets with a smile and a laugh. Alistair’s larger body completely covers her own, and she wraps her arms and legs around him to pull him closer. He buries her head in the crook of her neck to muffle his cries as he follows the urging of her nails scratching against his back, pounding into her with as much force as he can.

Each thrust sends sparks behind her eyelids as she keens for him, not at all worried about who might hear them together. Sweat pools between her breasts as she meets each of Alistair’s thrusts with one of her own, their gasping cries and their flesh meeting the only sounds in the room.

Alistair moves his face from her neck to her ear, pulling the point into his mouth. He runs his tongue over the sensitive flesh and she shatters again, tensing as she screams. He tries to continue moving, but the feel of her muscles clenching him is too much to bear a second time, and his hips stutter in their rhythm before he buries himself to the hilt inside of her and roars his pleasure through clenched teeth.

He collapses on top of her, letting his weight press her down into the soft mattress. She laughs as she comes back to herself, running her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair as he fights to catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” she murmurs into his ear, turning to press a kiss to his temple. The simple motion reminds her of all the times he kissed  _ her  _ temple before they confessed their feelings, and she can’t help but smile as she kisses him again. With any luck--and, despite being forced to become a Grey Warden, Harea has to admit she’s had more than her fair share of lucky breaks in the last year--there will be many more opportunities for her to kiss him just the same way.

He grunts, not moving, and she giggles again. 

He doesn’t move even as he softens inside of her, and she begins to worry that he’s fallen asleep on top of her, his pants still dangling around his knees. She taps his shoulder and tries to shuffle out from under him, and the movement is apparently enough to rouse him from his stupor.

“Thank you,” he mutters as he rolls onto his back, not bothering to kick his pants the rest of the way off or climb under his blanket. “That was amazing.”

She laughs again and pulls his trousers off to let them drop on the floor. She nudges him until she can pull the blanket out from under him and drape it across his hips. “You never have to thank me, vhenan. Go to sleep.” She smooths his hair away from his forehead, and he opens his eyes to frown at her.

“Aren’t you staying?” he grabs for her arm to pull her down next to him, but she slips away easily.

“I’m just going to clean up. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, satisfied with her answer, and is asleep before she even makes it back to Morrigan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harea and Alistair fight the archdemon, then have to deal with the consequences of Morrigan's ritual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to post the link, but I made a Spotify playlist for this story a little while ago. You can [check it out](https://open.spotify.com/user/hufflescruff/playlist/0UdujTMND1EFeLiqvCJAe5) here if you're interested!
> 
> Only four more chapters to go!

Harea tried to make Alistair stay behind and fight in the other group, the one defending Fort Drakon from the darkspawn, she really did. He just absolutely wouldn’t hear of it. After a year of not making one single decision that affected the group, he found his backbone the one time she needed him to listen.

She let her anger burn through her for a moment, hot and violent, before it fizzled out under the look of utter devotion that had made its way onto his face when she wasn’t looking. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead, murmuring that he wanted to keep her safe no matter what, and that they needed to be together forever, even in this.

She hadn’t been able to say no.

But now, faced with the archdemon, she wishes she had.

They’ve been fighting for what feels like hours. Riordan is nowhere to be seen, probably lying dead somewhere. He may have  _ injured  _ the archdemon, but it’s still able to fight hard enough that Harea is scared shitless. Without the adrenaline coursing through her body, she would have collapsed long ago, overwhelmed with the number of wounds she’s sustained and had healed, with the number of darkspawn she’s struck down with her blades.

Elves and dwarves are working together with her little group, keeping the darkspawn back and working the ballistas to strike the archdemon. Morrigan is sending healing spells and barriers left and right, trying to keep the Grey Wardens as safe as possible.

Harea and Alistair fight side by side, pushing through the hoard. Alistair’s shield deflects the dragon’s fire from Harea more than once, and her sharp eye and sharper daggers stop him from being stabbed in the back as he defends her.

They are a team. They fight well together, and with each bolt that slams into the dragon’s side, Harea prays to anyone who is willing to hear her that Morrigan’s ritual worked and that she and Alistair will have many more years to fight side by side.

The dragon falls, screaming in pain, as its blood loss weakens it. The darkspawn have been fought back, the doors to the tower barred, and for the moment there is peace at the top of the tower.

All eyes turn to the Wardens, covered in ichor, as they run in tandem to the archdemon’s side.

Its roars are deafening, its teeth wickedly sharp and still gnashing at anyone who is within striking distance. Harea raises her daggers to plunge them deep in the dragon’s heart when Alistair wraps both his arms around her and lifts her away from the beast.

“Wait!” his voice is desperate, even as she struggles to get away from him. “Let me. I won’t let you die!”

She spins in his grasp to fight him, but his lips find hers before she can speak. His kiss is hungry, desperate, and their tears mingle together. He pushes her away, hard, and she falls sprawling to the stone floor.

Her screams mingle with the dragon’s as he plunges his sword into its neck.

\---

Harea regains consciousness slowly, moving through a fog towards the quiet voices that speak over her. When she opens her eyes, Leliana and Wynne are hovering over her, grim expressions on their faces.

“Alistair.” Her voice is hoarse, throat dry, and just that one word makes her whole body shake with coughs.

Wynne disappears from view and returns with a cup clutched in shaking hands. “Drink this.”

It’s water, cool and refreshing, and it soothes her parched throat enough for her to stop coughing. She rests back onto her pillows and finds her eyes drifting shut again.

_ No. I must know. _

“Alistair,” she says again, staring up at her two friends.

They exchange a look, unsure how to proceed.

“He is--” Leliana starts, then stops. “He is still alive, but he has not regained consciousness after the battle.”

Harea’s eyes squeeze closed, tears bubbling forth without a way to stop them. Alistair is alive. Morrigan’s ritual worked.

She has their baby inside of her, even if it is the host of an old god. It’s still theirs. Nothing can dampen the outpouring of love and thankfulness she suddenly feels.

Hands grab hers and someone wipes her face. “Oh, there there.” Wynne is speaking this time, her voice soft. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him. Just worry about getting better.”

She isn’t worried about Alistair. She’s never been happier in her life.

Leliana’s gentle cooing ushers her back into oblivion.

\---

The next time Harea awakes, it’s for good. Buoyed by the news that Alistair is alive and they can start their new lives together, she goads Leliana into helping her visit Alistair in his room. She feels well enough to walk unassisted, but she lets Leliana wrap her arm around her waist to support her down the hallway anyway. The bard has been hovering relentlessly, and is loathe to let her friend out of her sight.

Alistair is still unconscious when they arrive in his room, and Harea climbs in bed beside him without a second thought. She curls into his side, tucking her head against him and throwing one arm over his chest. Leliana sighs softly, but smiles after a moment and tucks her friends in together.

Harea’s heart swells as she feels the gentle rise and fall of Alistair’s chest, and her tears flow freely. She hasn’t seen Morrigan, but she’s never been happier to have accepted Flemeth’s suggestion that the witch accompany them.

She saved Alistair’s live and gave Harea everything she’s ever wanted.

She’ll need to be thanked properly.

\---

Alistair wakes up to the familiar feeling of Harea holding him. He smiles sleepily, running his fingers through her hair. It’s a lovely feeling, one he hopes to experience every day for the rest of his life. All they have to do is end the Blight, and to do that all they have to do is--

His eyes pop open. All they have to do is kill the archdemon. But he’s already done that. He chopped the dragon’s head off himself, watched it fall to the floor in a spray of black blood. There was a flash of white-hot light as he fell, then… nothing

Was the archdemon not truly dead? Had it just been a dream?

He tries to sit up, but the comfortable weight of Harea laying on his chest stops him. She stirs as he starts to move, and a great yawn erupts from her as she buries her face in his chest. Any other time he would have laughed at that, but today he has more important things to say.

“Harea? What happened?”

His voice makes her eyes open, and she blinks up at him sleepily for a moment before her face lights up in a slow smile.

“Alistair.” That one word carries all of the love she feels for him, and she reaches up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He puts his hand on the back of her head to hold her in place as he returns the gesture, then he pushes her away gently.

“I thought I killed the archdemon.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. “You did, vhenan. The Blight is over.”

He frowns. “Is this another sloth demon thing? Because if the Blight is over, one of us should be dead. Me. I should be dead.”

She shakes her head. “Morrigan gave us a way out.”

He sits up, ignoring the way the room spins at the sudden movement. Harea moves back so he has room to adjust, then grabs his hands in hers. 

“ _ Morrigan  _ gave us a way out? Why would she do that?” He tries to keep his disbelief out of his voice, but he can’t help it.

Harea barely suppresses her eyeroll. “I know  _ you  _ hate her, but she and I are good friends. She didn’t want to see me die, so she told me about a… a ritual that could save us.”

Alistair squints at her, trying to make sense of her words. “What sort of ritual? What did you do?”

She blushes a little, fidgeting with his fingers. “She… she made it so that when I came to you that night we would conceive a child.” Alistair’s eyes pop open, and she presses on with her explanation, words coming out in a rush. “She couldn’t be certain that it would work, but it  _ must  _ have, because you’re still alive.”

“How--how could--”

“She  _ said  _ the child would carry the taint, and that would attract the archdemon to it, so it would go to the child instead of one of us.”

Alistair rips his hands away from her and climbs from the bed, wobbling slightly on his feet. “So you’re carrying a darkspawn baby.”

Harea wrinkles her nose. “No. Morrigan said that it’s not a darkspawn, and it isn’t hurt, it’s just a baby.  _ Our _ baby, Alistair.”

She stands and reaches for him again, but he steps away from her grasp. He’s shaking all over, and he knows if she touches him, he’ll cave. “ ‘Morrigan said.’ Morrigan is a complete and utter  _ bitch;  _ how can you trust anything she has to say?” His voice rises as he speaks, and he yells the last few words at her.

She flinches away from him, sitting back on the bed. She hangs her head slightly as tears threaten to come again. “Don’t call her that! She didn’t want to see me hurt. She would have completed the ritual herself, but I thought you wouldn’t want--”

“Complete it herself  _ how _ ?”

“You would have had to… to  _ be with  _ her, and she would have the child instead.” She peeks up at him, and he’s staring at her with his face red. “I thought you wouldn’t want to have a bastard, so I told her no.”

“You told her  _ no.  _ Because you thought I wouldn’t want to father a  _ bastard. _ ” Harea nods, trying to figure out what he’s not saying. “It didn’t occur to you that I would say no because I wouldn’t want to father a  _ demon baby _ ?”

Harea lets herself cry under his accusations, and he turns away from her tears. He can’t look at her now, not knowing what’s growing inside of her. A child with the soul of an archdemon? What was Harea thinking agreeing to such a thing? It sounds like  _ blood magic,  _ and even as an elf with such strange views, surely Harea could see how this is such a terrible idea.

It’s probably the  _ worst  _ idea he’s ever heard, and just two weeks ago she was trying to talk him into being the king of Ferelden. Does she ever care about what  _ he  _ wants, or is she always trying to make his decisions for him?

“Alistair, it isn’t--”

He takes several more steps away from her. “What are we going to tell the rest of the Order? If they find out--” He cuts himself off and hangs his head.

“There’s an Orlesian Senior Warden here. Rigny. I already told him Riordan took the final blow.”

“What if he asks Morrigan what really happened?”

Harea sighs and wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “She’s already gone. And Fen obviously isn’t going to say anything to him.”

Alistair doesn’t respond for a long time, and Harea wants to go to him. She thought he would be happy that they’re able to spend the rest of their lives together, even if they’re going to be cut short by their Callings. Maybe they’ll be able to find a cure before it gets that bad.

Unable to stand the silence any more, Harea starts talking again. “Rigny wants one of us to be the new Warden-Commander of Ferelden. I think he’d rather have you, but since you’ve been unconscious for a week he’s had to settle for talking to me. Anora gave us Howe’s old estate, the Amaranthine arling. We’d go there and--”

“You should go.” Alistair’s voice is low, but it cuts through her ramblings easily enough.

“What?” Her question is nothing more than a whisper.

Alistair doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes firmly trained out the narrow window in his room. “You should be the Warden-Commander. Go to Amaranthine. I’ll tell Rigny that’s what would be best.”

Harea’s hands are trembling as Alistair’s words sink into her heart. “What about you?”

She can see his jaw clenching before he responds. “I need to go to Highever to create a memorial for Duncan. After that…” his voice breaks and he turns fully away from her, hiding his face. “After that, I don’t know. Perhaps Weisshaupt has a place for me.”

Harea does stand then, tears flowing freely, and puts one hand on his arm. “Alistair--”

He jerks away from her immediately, crossing the room to stand by the door. “You should go speak to the Senior Warden.”

“Alistair, please, we have to talk about this.”

Alistair looks up to meet her gaze, tears glistening in his hazel eyes. His face is red, blotchy from holding in his tears and the angry words that threaten to spill free. “There’s nothing left to say.”

And then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned communication is key in a relationship?
> 
> I've always been uncomfortable with Alistair calling Morrigan a bitch in the game, so I took my opportunity to call him out on it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Amaranthine, Harea gets used to Alistair's absence.

_ Alistair, _

_ I’m so sorry, my love. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just wanted us to be able to spend our lives together, but I see now that my choice has only driven you away. I wish I could go back and undo it, for your sake. I would take the final blow myself, and let you seek your own happiness instead of trying to make that decision for you. You  _ _ deserve _ _ to be happy. I can only hope you’re finding happiness whatever you are doing. _

_ I miss you every day that you are away from me. I pray that you are safe, that Mythal (or Andraste, if she will listen to me) will guide your steps until you are returned to me. And if you decide not to return, I pray that you will find another who can make you as happy as you made me for our too few months together. _

_ Amaranthine is in shambles. We have too few Wardens, and those we do have, particularly the ones from Orlais, are apparently disinclined to follow an elf. Nathaniel Howe has joined us--he came to assassinate me, then decided he’d rather rebuild his family’s name by becoming a Warden. Oghren is here as well; he survived the Joining despite drinking much more than his fair share of the ritual. A mage, Anders, Joined us after I conscripted him. He escaped from his Circle no fewer than seven times, the most recent one being just before it fell to Uldred. He is a Spirit Healer, a very capable one, and more than once he has saved the life of one of my new companions. _

_ There are new threats that meet me here. There are new, talking darkspawn that either follow an entity called the Mother or someone called the Architect. Both are making my life difficult. The combined duties of being Warden-Commander and arlessa are too much for me some days, and I spend more time than I should in the field. It feels good to help people, to find a lost loved one or deliver someone from the clutches of a darkspawn. I do not like standing in the Vigil, staring down nobles and hoping none of them can tell how ill-fitting my armor becomes. _

_ I’m not sure how much longer I can stay here as Warden-Commander. I do not want my condition to become known. It would raise questions that I am not prepared to answer. I would keep us safe--all three of us. I pray I do not have to leave before I hear from you. It has been weeks, however, and if I do not hear from you soon I may give up hope, if only to prevent myself from giving in to despair. _

_ I pray this letter finds you well. I pray that you will spare a few words to me, if only to tell me that I should forget you. _

_ Please, Alistair.  _

_ I love you. Always. _

_ Harea _

_ \--- _

The pain is nothing like she thought it would be. It’s not just physical pain, it’s also the gut-wrenching knowledge that  _ something is wrong.  _

Morrigan is helping her, but the witch doesn’t seem to understand that something isn’t right. She has a wide smile on her face, stretching out her cheeks in a way that looks painful. Harea would say something about it, but she’s wracked with pains and can’t speak other than to let out low moans.

Another pain takes her, and she screams through gritted teeth. Her fingernails tear as she holds onto the arms of the birthing chair she’s been forced into. As her scream falls away, it’s replaced with the keening wail of an infant, and something small and loud is being pressed into her arms.

Morrigan is beaming with pride, her yellow eyes reflecting the light like a cat’s. Her teeth are pointed and she licks her lips, bearing down on Harea with her hands outstretched, dark nails long claws.

Harea looks down at the babe in her arms, the little screaming thing that is still covered in her fluids, and stops breathing. Its skin is overlapping scales, its little hands sharp claws that reach up and scratch at her face. Its wails bore into her brain and an answering scream comes from outside.

The archdemon is back, the beat of its wings shaking the walls of their little house. 

Morrigan’s laughter joins the cacophony as the baby squirms in Harea’s arms. Little scaled wings sprout from its back and Morrigan reaches out to grab it from Harea’s hands and turns to leave.

“Thank you for doing the hard part for me,” she says over her shoulder, fangs glinting in the light of the dragon fire that’s burning outside. Then she disappears.

\---

Harea wakes with a start, cold sweat breaking out on her skin as she sits up. Without thinking, she stumbles from her tent and out into the cool night air of the Wending Wood. She takes deep gulps of air as her body begins to tremble; she tries to focus on her surroundings, the way she’s been practicing, but all she notices is the way the sky is just starting to turn pink in the distance before the now-familiar nausea bubbles up in her gut.

She staggers away from the camp, as far as she can, before leaning against a tree to empty her stomach. She coughs and spits, still trembling all over, and manages not to jump when a pair of large hands reach to pull her hair away from her face.

When she’s done, she lets Anders guide her to a sitting position away from her sick, and gratefully accepts the water skin he offers her. She wipes the tears and sweat from her face as Anders’ hands begin to glow blue and his distinct healing magic flows through her, calming her nerves and pushing away the lingering nausea.

“Oh!” he says, voice surprisingly serious, and her heart sinks. She should have pulled away from him. “Did you know you’re--”

She nods and lets the tears come in earnest, closing her eyes and resting her head against the tree behind her. Anders’ hands hover over her, not sure what to do as his Warden-Commander breaks down in front of him. Two decades in a Circle has done little to prepare him for this.

He settles for patting her hand, and the awkward motion makes her laugh through her tears. He raises his eyebrows at that and pulls away from her, letting her wipe her face on her sleeve.

“Sorry, Anders,” she mutters, voice pitched low to avoid alerting the rest of the camp to their conversation. “I’d like to keep this between us. I haven’t really told anyone yet.”

He blinks at her, sitting back in the dirt with a thump. “Of course,” he says, then holds out his hand again. “May I?”

She nods, and his hand begins glowing again. He doesn’t touch her, but moves his palm until it’s just hovering over her stomach. He holds it there for a few seconds, then smiles at her.

“The babe is healthy,” he says, voice just a whisper. Harea breaks into a watery smile, and he starts talking again to distract her. “Should you--should you be fighting in your condition?” She just shrugs, so he tries again. “Surely the child’s father--”

“He doesn’t care,” she snaps, cutting him off. Then she sighs and rubs her eyes with her knuckles. “Sorry. I plan on doing my duty to the Wardens for as long as I can. When it isn’t possible anymore, I’ll just… go somewhere. My clan is outside of Kirkwall; I may just join them, if they’ll have me.” She watches Anders’ reaction, playing with the dragonbone ring she still wears on her left hand.

He frowns at her, not sure which line of questioning to pursue first. He probably shouldn’t chase any of them, really. She’s his Commander, a beautiful woman ten years his junior, a Dalish elf, and obviously heartbroken over carrying another man’s child. He should just let it go and never mention it again, like she asked.

But he’s never really been good at letting things go.

“You--” he pauses and huffs out a breath. “How could he possibly not care?”

She tilts her head to study him, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “He doesn’t want the child, and he’s upset that I tricked him into it.”

“Did you?”

She shrugs and looks away. “Sort of. Either way, he’s gone. He hasn’t responded to any of my letters, and I probably only have a few more weeks where I can hide it in my armor anyway. I’ll need to get this thing with the Mother wrapped up quickly so I can go.”

“To Kirkwall.”

She shrugs again. “Not to the city itself. My clan is living outside of it in the mountains, so I’ll just rejoin them at least until the baby comes.”

Anders drums his fingers against his chin. “You said they might not accept you?”

Her face darkens at this, and he worries he’s finally overstepped his bounds. She’s always been accepting of his comments before, but maybe-- 

“The child’s father is not an elf,” she says simply, twirling her ring on her finger. “My clan is unlikely to accept an elf-blooded human child.” As Anders sits silently, she lets her hand rest on the soft swell of her belly, just barely visible under her loose nightshirt. It’s the tunic she stole from Alistair all those weeks ago, one of the few things she’s allowed herself to keep from that time.

She never thought she would consider her happiest memories to be during the Blight, but that reality can’t be denied. 

As her thumb strokes her stomach,  Anders’ hand is suddenly on hers. She snaps back to attention and meets his gaze, momentarily taken aback at the serious expression on the usually cavalier mage’s face.

“I have a friend in Kirkwall,” he says, voice pitched even lower as their camp stirs to life only a few feet away. “If you take me with you when you go, I can help protect you on the journey.”

She blinks at him, but doesn’t remove her hand from his. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Maybe not now, but you will soon.” He presses his hand against hers into her belly, his meaning clear. “And… my friend, Karl, is a mage that I knew from the Fereldan Circle. He was transferred to the Gallows in Kirkwall. I want to help him escape.”

Harea frowns at him. “The Circle at Kirkwall is called the  _ Gallows _ ?” At Anders’ nod, she rolls her eyes. “I’ll never understand the way you shemlen treat your mages. Fine, I’ll let you come with me. But you have to let go of my hand first.”

Anders’ eyes light up and he immediately pulls away from her. He jumps to his feet as she climbs to hers, and valiantly resists the impulse to smother the little elf in a hug. He’s been trying to get to Karl for years, and thought he might finally be truly stuck when she conscripted him into the Wardens.

Now he knows she saved him.

\---

Anders never pushes Harea for more information about her past, and for that she’s grateful. Most of her memories are too painful to share now, colored by Alistair’s abandonment. He never asks who her baby’s father is, even as her belly grows until it can barely be hidden in her armor, even when she wakes him up in the middle of the night to let him feel it kicking for the first time.

The mage just waits patiently for their time to escape Amaranthine, to head across the sea to Kirkwall. He hasn’t been able to speak with Karl in years, and he’s achingly desperate to be reunited with his friend again.

He tries not to think about the way Harea trusts only  _ him  _ with her secret, because she only trusts him with the one. He tries not to think about the way she sometimes falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, or the way she always reaches out to touch him when he’s nearby. He definitely tries to ignore the ribald comments Oghren shoots his way whenever Harea’s out of earshot, or the way Nathaniel smirks at him when he stares after their Commander for too long.

Harea makes herself stop writing letters to Alistair. First she just stops sending them, letting them pile in her desk until she can’t handle looking at them anymore and throws them all into the fire. She removes her ring and rubs it with the fingers of her right hand, considering, but slips it back on with a shake of her head.

She’s not ready for that yet. She may never be ready for that. She should keep it, give it to their child as the only thing she has left of its father. The baby rolls within her as though agreeing her her sentiment. She smiles and rests her hand where its little foot touches her.

“I’ll see you soon, da’len,” she murmurs. “I’ll make sure you have a family. People who love you, no matter what.” Her voice breaks as she finishes speaking, and she lets herself sink into her chair to cry.

\---

_ Alistair, _

_ I leave this letter in the hands of your new Warden-Commander, Nathaniel Howe. I trust him to deliver it to you should you ever arrive in Amaranthine. I would have preferred to let you become Commander, as you are the more senior Warden, but I know you hate leadership and I have no idea where you are. I have sent letters to Highever and Weisshaupt, but have received no response. I can only assume you are somewhere else, and will eventually obey the orders of your commanding officer. _

_ I am unable to hide my condition any longer. Anders knows, as does Nathaniel. I believe others suspect, but no one has mentioned it to my face. I will be leaving Amaranthine at first light, traveling with Anders to a safer place. _

_ I can only take your continued silence to be a message that you are firm in your decision to no longer be with me, and that you have absolutely no desire to be involved in our child’s life. I understand both things, though I wish you felt differently. _

_ I will raise our child to know that you are a hero, that you saved Ferelden by my side. I will never speak ill of you, so that if you ever find him, you will be welcomed with open arms. I can do nothing more. _

_ I still love you. I still pray for you daily. I still beg you to stay safe. _

_ Perhaps one day we will meet again. _

_ All my love, _

_ Harea _


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Mother defeated, it's time for Harea and Anders to move to Kirkwall, but they struggle to find somewhere to call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bonus chapter because I'm upset about the presidential election.
> 
> Canon-divergence re: Merrill's house. It should be MUCH smaller in an alienage.

With her morning sickness long behind her, Harea isn’t expecting to spend all of her journey across the Waking Sea bent over the side of the ship with Anders rubbing small circles on her back. She receives pitying glances from some of the other passengers, but the captain and her crew ignore them, too busy to worry about one seasick woman.

When she isn’t heaving into the ocean, Harea leans against Anders’ side and watches the horizon. Ferelden slips away, and for a time she can’t see any land at all. She keeps both hands tight on the ship’s railing, knuckles as white as her face, and Anders keeps his arm around her, holding her up.

Out of her armor and in a soft linen dress, Harea’s pregnancy is obvious. She still tries to hide it, months of habit staying with her, but part of her does enjoy being allowed to feel the baby kick whenever she wants. Were she more secure on the ship, she would keep one hand on her stomach at all times.

Another woman heading for Kirkwall stops to talk to Harea just as land appears in the distance. She touches Harea’s belly, laughing in delight as the babe delivers a swift kick to her hands. The movement makes Harea’s stomach lurch uncomfortably, and she clears her throat, looking nervously at the waves lapping against the ship’s hull.

“You two are cute together,” the woman says, looking from Harea up to Anders and back down again. “Your child will be so handsome. How long have you been married?”

Anders takes a deep breath like he’s going to explain their whole story to the woman, so Harea steps in with a gentle smile. “Thank you so much. It’s been almost a year now.” It isn’t the first lie she’s told since she began down this path. And she  _ has  _ known Anders almost a year now. They just aren’t together.

The tall mage chuckles behind her as the woman moves out of earshot. “You should have told me we were getting married, I would have gotten you a gift.”

Harea shakes her head and leans away from him slightly, bending to put her elbows on the rail. She still has Alistair’s ring on, and she twirls it carefully around her finger. Not for the first time, she thinks she should take it off. Or at least put it on her other hand, but it still feels wrong to remove it.

Anders watches her fiddle with the ring, the one that her old lover gave her, the lover she refuses to talk about, and fights to keep the frown off of his face. He has no claim over her. And now that she’s no longer the Warden-Commander, she really has no claim on him. That he follows her is more of a testament to how she inspires loyalty in her companions. How she inspires love.

_ He should not have abandoned his wife and child.  _ Justice’s voice, so new to Anders’ mind, makes him flinch. Harea doesn’t notice, busy breathing slowly through her nose to keep from being sick again. He doesn’t want her to know he accepted Justice… or whatever Justice is now. He feels so  _ angry  _ all the time. She may understand a lot of things, unconcerned with blood magic, but surely moving to Kirkwall with an abomination would be too much for her to accept.

He settles for patting her back again as she loses her tentative control over the edge of the ship, valiantly ignoring Justice’s voice in his mind.

\---

They spend their first night in Kirkwall at an inn Harea pays for. They accept a single room with one bed, and after a short fight about whether or not Anders should take the floor (he insists that he should, and Harea laughs in his face until he gives in), they share it.

Harea hasn’t spent the night sleeping with another person in six months, not since before Alistair cast her aside, and it’s hard for her to fall asleep. The baby always moves more when she’s still, and she spends several hours feeling it play within her. Tears fall silently from her eyes as she wishes Alistair was with her, holding her like he always did before. Now she’ll never see him again.

In the darkness, she removes his ring and slides it on her right hand. It’s time.

\---

It’s easy to find the Dalish encampment on Sundermount. It would be easier to actually reach them if Harea was less pregnant, but Anders doesn’t complain about how long it takes her to walk the few miles from Kirkwall’s gates to the first sign of the elves.

She easily recognizes the hunters watching the path into the encampment and greets them with wide smiles. They stare at her blankly for a long moment before one of them breaks into a run to meet her.

“Harea!” The hunter skids to a stop in front of her old friend, arms wide open for a hug. Harea gives in immediately, tears springing to her eyes as they embrace. “I never thought I’d see you again!”

Harea pets the other girl’s head before pulling away. They keep their hands on each other’s shoulders, staring at each other as though making sure they’re not imagining things. “I never thought I’d see you either, Junar.”

Junar’s eyes, however, are drawn to the round belly pressing between them. “Oh, look at you,” she coos, making blood rise to Harea’s face. “You’re adorable.” She glances up at Anders, the mage hovering nearby but still towering more than a foot over the small gathering of elves. “Is this your--” she starts, voice much cooler, letting the question hang in the air between them.

Harea clears her throat to draw the attention back to herself. “No, he isn’t. He’s just making sure that I get back to you safely.”

Junar’s smile is back on her face, and she loops her arms around Harea’s as she looks up at Anders. “An’eth’ara, eralan. Please, follow me.” She turns and pulls Harea behind her, leading her up the hill towards the center of the Dalish camp. Anders follows along behind them, fingers itching to hold his staff, but he remains calm.

The elves have set up their aravels in a circle around a clearing. Makeshift tables have been set up here and there, with elves using them to work or trade, with a few small campfires scattered throughout to help ward off the mountain chill. 

Junar leads the pair right up to an older elf, her white hair pulled back into a braid very similar to the one Harea always has in her hair. She tilts her head to the side, studying them, then grins.

“Well, well. Harea Mahariel.”

“Keeper Marethari.”

The two women embrace, and Harea begins weeping anew. The older woman--the Keeper--pulls away to wipe at Harea’s tears. “Now, now. None of that, da’len.” She turns to Junar and smiles. “Junar, can you make some tea for our guests?”

The warrior scurries away, not bothering to try to hide the way she was staring at Anders, and Marethari turns to the mage. “Are you Alistair?”

Anders frowns at the way Harea blushes, but quickly turns his attention back to the older elf with a slight bow. “No, ma’am. I’ve never had the honor of meeting the man. I  _ am _ a Grey Warden, though. My name is Anders.” 

Marethari nods at him. “And are you…” she lets the question hang between the three of them just as Junar had, and rests her hand on Harea’s belly. The younger elf huffs out a breath and stares down at her feet--or where her feet would be, if she could see them.

Anders feels his face heating up, and he clears his throat before answering. “No, ma’am. I’m only delivering my Commander to do your doorstep.” He realizes at the last second that aravels don’t seem to  _ have _ doors, and that Harea is no longer the Warden-Commander, but he sticks to his line. He clears his throat and slides his gaze away from the woman studying him.

Apparently she approves of whatever she sees in him, because she nods. “Wait here for a few moments while I speak to Harea.” Without waiting to hear his response, she tucks Harea’s hand in the crook of her elbow and leads her away.

Anders stares after them for a few minutes before sitting down on a nearby boulder. Junar brings him a mug of tea that she’s kindly sweetened with some honey before scurrying off again to retake her post at the camp’s entrance. Alone, finally, Anders hangs his head and listens to what Justice has to say.

\---

Harea and Marethari settle in the Keeper’s aravel together, accepting the mugs of tea Junar brings them with smiles. Harea sips hers and nearly starts to cry again as the familiar taste bursts on her tongue. Marethari pats her knee and ignores her own tea, waiting until Harea gets her emotions back under control.

“So. Tell me, Hero of Ferelden, what brings you back to your clan?” She asks the question with a smile, and after taking a deep breath, Harea tells her the story.

She tells her everything, even the parts she never told anyone else. Marethari is the closest thing she has to a mother, and the woman listens with a pleasant expression on her face. It doesn’t change even when Harea explains about why Grey Wardens are required to end the Blight, about Morrigan’s ritual, or about how Alistair spurned her for her decision to save his life.

Marethari reaches out to take Harea’s hands. “So you are carrying  _ Alistair’s  _ child, and you’ve left Ferelden to hide it.” Harea swallows hard and nods. This is the moment she’s been waiting for and dreading since she realized she would have to take care of herself.

Her Keeper sighs and rubs her forehead with the back of her hand. “Da’len, you know we cannot allow a human child to live with the clan. That brings too much attention to us. Wandering shemlen will think we have stolen one of their own--and we can’t risk bringing the Kirkwall Guard down onto us.” Harea wilts under the news that she was expecting but hated to hear anyway. She rests her head on the table and sniffles as Marethari runs her fingers through her hair, just the way she did when Harea was a child missing her parents.

“Merrill moved to the Kirkwall alienage a few weeks ago,” Marethari continues, voice softer now. “A woman named Hawke helped her. Perhaps Merrill will be able to give you a place to stay? Or perhaps Hawke will be able to help you and your mage friend find somewhere to live; she seems a friendly sort.”

Harea groans softly. “I can’t even stay here until the babe is born?”

“You can,” Marethari says slowly, “but it it would be better if you had somewhere to call your own before you give birth. Somewhere you feel safe.”

She runs her fingers through Harea’s hair for a few more blissful moments before tapping the younger elf’s head to make her sit up. “I’m sorry, da’len. I’m happy you are nearby. If you send for me, I’ll come assist you with your labor.” She wipes Harea’s tears and helps her stand, ushering her out of the aravel.

Anders stands when he sees the women approaching. He felt like he should have left already, but when he sees Harea’s blotchy face he’s happy he stayed. She shakes her head at him and reaches out a hand when she’s close enough, and he takes it, lacing their fingers together.

It’s her left hand, and he notices with a start that her ring is no longer there.

\---

“What do you mean, she can’t stay here?!” Merril is indignant, feet firmly planted and her hands on her hips. She’s a tiny elf, shorter even than Harea, and the sight of her glaring up the eighteen inches to Anders’ face is giving Harea the giggles. She puts one hand over her mouth as both parties turn their glares to her, muffling the sound.

Anders crosses his arms. “It isn’t  _ safe _ .”

“Of course it is!” Merrill cries, throwing her hands wide to indicate her little house. “It’s perfectly safe. I was her First, I can protect her  _ and _ keep her and the baby healthy.”

“Where will you put them?” Anders demands, not backing down. “You only have one room, and the one bed barely fits in it as it is.”

“Babies don’t take up a lot of room, shem,”  she says, voice dripping with derision. “There’s more room here than there is in an aravel.”

Both of her points are true, and Anders can’t argue with them. He’s saved from coming up with a retort as yelling breaks through Merrill’s thin walls. Something thuds against one next to where Harea is standing, and she leaps away with a small shout of surprise. A frame falls off and crashes to the floor next to Merrill. If it had any glass in it, it would have shattered all over the floor.

Anders sighs heavily and looks up at the ceiling, hovering oppressively close to his head. “Maybe she can just stay with you until I find us a safe place somewhere else in the city.” He looks down at Harea to gauge her reaction, and she just shrugs.

“That’s fine with me. Is that okay, lethallan?” She turns to Merrill with a tiny, hopeful smile. After being turned away by Marethari, having her only family left in the world fighting over her means more than she can describe.

Merrill turns up her dainty nose. “Very well.” She turns to walk to the other side of her little home, then pauses to send a withering glare over her shoulder. “It better be a very nice place, shem, or I won’t let her go with you.”

Anders sends a quick glance around her home, then his lips twist up into a smirk.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starring my feelings on why elves aren't supposed to mix with humans. An elf-blooded (human) baby in a clan would just invite all sorts of trouble.
> 
> Only two more chapters left!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Settled in Kirkwall's Darktown district, Harea makes herself a home with her new family. There's always something happening in Kirkwall though, and the clinic isn't always as far removed from the city as she'd like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some time jumping here. The chapter covers about four years from when Hawke finds Anders to the Qunari rebellion.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Anders?”

Harea turns to blink at the woman who spoke, looking away from the potion she was mixing. Most people who come into their clinic don’t ask for Anders by name, they just say they need the healer or, Creators forbid, just show her whatever their problem is without prompting.

The woman waiting has shoulder-length black hair and piercing grey eyes, and she stands tall, much taller than the ginger dwarf next to her. A shorter woman who can only be her sister hovers just behind her, along with a statuesque redheaded woman in full Guard uniform. Harea blinks at them, arms moving automatically to wrap around the bundle cradled in a fabric sling across her chest.

“Is he here?” Harea has to pull her focus back to the woman, but before she can say anything Anders wanders in from one of their back rooms, wiping his hands on a towel. The woman turns to face him, a little smile on her face. “Anders?”

He nods, and she smiles at him before continuing. “I’m Hawke. I’m planning an expedition to the Deep Roads, and I was told you might have maps I can borrow?”

Anders narrows his eyes at the woman, at Hawke, and Harea turns away. In the sling, the baby starts to fuss, and she hums quietly to him, bouncing gently. It’s almost time for him to eat, but she wants to be able to defend Anders if he needs it. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but this group isn’t exactly normal.

The dwarf keeps glancing over at her. She can feel his eyes on her back as she hums, and she turns further away. She tries to keep one ear on Anders’ conversation--she knows more about the Deep Roads than he does, after all--but the baby lets out a high-pitched cry that drowns out all talking.

With a little sigh, she pulls the baby out of the sling, giving him a soft kiss on one chubby cheek. He’s bigger than an elven baby would be, but still smaller than she was expecting. He’s absolutely perfect, even after months of nightmares about a baby with scales and dragon wings.

Sometimes she wonders about Alistair’s mother, the serving girl who caught the attention of King Maric. An elf-blooded baby would look completely human, but the baby is smaller than he should be, with ears just a little too pointy and eyes that reflect the light just a little too well. Anders says he’s perfectly healthy, beautiful like his mamae, but still she wonders.

With efficiency borne from practice, Harea unbuttons the top of her dress to allow the baby to nurse. He latches on quickly, one hand grasping her finger. She smiles down at him as he studies her with hazel eyes, eyes that look so much like Alistair’s. She rocks gently, still humming, and reminds herself not to cry.

“Oh, he’s precious.” Harea nearly jumps at the sudden voice next to her. It’s the second brunette, the quiet-looking one. She’s staring at the infant with rapt attention, eyes glowing. “How old is he?”

Harea smiles and turns so she can get a better look. “Almost four months. His name is Duncan.”

The woman reaches out and touches Duncan’s bare foot with one finger. He curls his toes against her touch. Were he not focused on eating, he would have offered her a wide, toothless grin.

“I’m Bethany Hawke,” the girl offers. She glances over her shoulder. “That’s my sister, Thea, and our friends Varric and Aveline.”

“I’m Harea,” the elf responds, meeting the girl’s shy smile. It makes her look vulnerable, and Harea is suddenly worried for how old she is. Surely she isn’t going into the Deep Roads too--but then, Harea was only twenty when she went to Orzammar for the first time. “Are you… are you planning an expedition?”

Bethany shrugs slightly, and turns to lean against the table so she’s facing the rest of the room. “My sister is. I don’t know if I’ll be going with her or not.” Her gaze is drawn back to baby Duncan, and Harea smiles down at him too.

“Bethany!” Hawke’s voice makes her sister jump, and the young woman smiles at Harea again before scurrying away. The four of them leave together, and Anders comes to stand next to Harea. He strokes Duncan’s cheek with one long finger and presses a kiss to the top of Harea’s head.

“What was that about?” They’re alone in Anders’ clinic, and they can speak freely, but still he glances around the room like the rest of the Wardens might be lurking around one of the corners.

“They want help with a venture into the Deep Roads around here. They heard I might have maps. I told them I’d help if they help me meet Karl.” He keeps one hand on Harea’s back even as she sighs at him. “I haven’t heard from him _or_ the maid who was smuggling the messages for me. I’m worried about him.”

“Where did you get the maps, Anders?” Harea tries to keep the disapproval out of her voice. She isn’t the Warden-Commander anymore, so it shouldn’t matter what Anders does with Warden secrets. She told her Keeper most of them anyway, so why should it bother her if Anders took some maps from her before they left Amaranthine?

He clears his throat. “There’s a Warden in Kirkwall.” Harea snaps her eyes up to meet his, body tensing, but she doesn’t move. “Oh, no one we know,” Anders says quickly, squeezing her arm gently until she relaxes. “It’s an Orlesian Warden, not one from Amaranthine. I thought he might be after one of us, but I think he’s just planning his own trip into the Deep Roads.”

“So you stole his maps?” Harea squints up at her friend, watching as his cheeks darken and he shrugs, averting his eyes. She sighs softly, shifting to put Duncan over her shoulder as he starts squirming against her breast.

Anders is used to this display. Harea has been living with him since before Duncan was born, and as a healer he has been by her side to see much worse. The more time he spends with Duncan, though, the less he’s able to remind himself that she’s out of his reach. It doesn’t help that she stopped wearing her old lover’s ring entirely, leaving it locked in the small trunk in her room.

The only thing that keeps him from approaching her is Justice’s voice in his head everytime he tries. She doesn’t need more hurt, not after everything else she’s been through. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be _just._

The baby burps, a loud noise that makes Harea giggle. The sound makes her seem younger than she is, and his heart swells. He has to walk to the other side of the room, by his desk. She moves Duncan to finish feeding, then turns to face him.

“Was that a good idea?” Her voice is quiet, but her displeasure is clear. “What if he comes looking for you?”

Anders shrugs again, and is saved from having to come up with an answer by the arrival of a young Lowtown mother and her colicky baby. They need his attention more than Harea does. At least that’s what he tells himself.

\---

Duncan grows quickly, like a Lowtown weed as Merrill says. The elven woman finds herself visiting Anders’ clinic often, just to see her clanmate and, as she calls Duncan, her little nephew. Though the women haven’t seen each other in a long time, they fall into an easy camaraderie.

Anders quickly becomes one of Hawke’s favored companions, keeping him away from the clinic more and more often. Though his expertise is needed sometimes, Merrill and Harea are able to dispense potions and poultices to the more simple cases.

As the months pass, Anders stops staring at Harea with that sad look that had carried him across the Waking Sea, transferring it to the dark-haired woman who swooped into the clinic one day and took him off on adventures to help Kirkwall’s mages. Harea doesn’t blame him. She only hopes that Hawke can make him happy in a way she hasn’t been able to.

Duncan learns to walk in Anders’ clinic, taking tentative steps between Harea and Merrill or Harea and Anders. Hawke is there sometimes too, especially on days she misses having Bethany with her. The young mage is apparently happy in the Gallows, even though Anders occasionally rants against her imprisonment.

Merrill and Harea teach Duncan simple Dalish words, words that Anders then must learn as well. Duncan learns to say mamae and a garbled sound that means Merrill. He knows the words for water and bread, though he uses them for food and drink in a more general way.

It’s the best Harea can do, and every time she’s able to tell Duncan a story about her gods or her legends, she feels her heart soar. That’s all she ever wanted growing up, and knowing that the pain she felt that night in the forest when she railed against Alistair was for nothing… well. Sometimes she still cries herself to sleep, but that can’t really be helped.

\---

She goes to the Gallows one day and takes Duncan with her. He’s toddling along well now, running more and falling down less. He loves the ship that takes them across to the island in the middle of Kirkwall’s harbor, even though the combination of the waves and worry about her child make Harea’s stomach churn.

She’s heard Hawke mention a templar who stands guard there, the one who took Bethany to the tower and earned Hawke’s fist to his mouth for his trouble.

She holds Duncan’s hand as they step off the ferry onto the Gallows’ dock, and drags him across the courtyard. She stands still for a moment, free hand shading her eyes, until she finds who she’s looking for.

“Knight-Captain Cullen?” He blinks at her, frowning for a moment, until recognition flashes across his face.

“Warden Mahariel?” He sounds incredulous, but he doesn’t move from where he’s standing at attention.

She smiles encouragingly at him, and picks Duncan up so that he’s resting on her hip. He sticks his thumb in his mouth and rests his head on her shoulder, eyeing Cullen suspiciously.

“I’m not a Warden anymore,” she says softly, taking a half step closer to him so he can hear. “I heard you were here, and I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment. Both are remembering the only other time they met, when she found him cowering in Uldred’s prison at Kinloch Hold. He had been barely coherent at the time, angry with her for sparing the mages. She wonders if he’s still that angry young man today.

He isn’t acting like it, and he smiles softly at her after a few seconds. His scar, the new one from Hawke’s fist, makes it lopsided and terribly handsome.

“It’s still tough some days,” he says honestly. “But…” he pauses and glances around, as though worried he might be overheard too. “I am happy you did not listen to me.” She beams up at him, and he averts his gaze to Duncan. “Who’s this?”

Harea turns slightly so Duncan is facing Cullen more directly. The boy turns his head away, and Cullen chuckles. “This is Duncan.”

Cullen’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah. Well, I hope he knows his mother is a hero.”

She blushes. It’s her turn to avert her eyes. “We haven’t quite gotten to that story yet, but I thank you.” He smiles down at her, and she waits another moment in silence before clearing her throat. “I just… I just wanted to make sure you’re well. I’m glad to see it.”

He bows, deeper than he should given their apparent stations, and she turns to leave.

Duncan stares at the strange templar over his mother’s shoulder, thumb still firmly in his mouth. He’s happy when they get back on the ferry.

\---

The invasion starts just before Duncan turns three. Even hiding in the clinic’s locked back room, Harea can hear the gaatlok explosions in the city above her. She keeps one candle lit and rocks the sleeping Duncan in her arms, praying madly that they will be protected here.

Anders is gone, fighting with Hawke again. She hopes Merrill is somewhere safe, that the alienage won’t be harmed. She prays that they’ll both come back to her. She can’t lose more people she loves.

Another explosion rocks overhead, dust filtering down from hidden cracks in the ceiling.

Then… nothing. Blessed silence.

She waits longer than she needs to, listening to Duncan breathing. He’s still wheezing slightly from his last cold, but he’s on the mend thanks to Anders’ loving care. No matter what happens with Justice’s possession, he seems to care deeply for the child. Almost as if Duncan were his own.

When she thinks it’s safe to emerge, and the single candle she managed to grab flickers out, she stands and moves to the little room she shares with Duncan. She lays him in their bed carefully, tucking him in and waiting until she’s sure he’s going to stay asleep, then quietly slips away.

She starts putting the clinic back together, righting toppled bottles and sweeping up broken glass. Her hands are trembling still, and she can barely remember living through battles in Denerim and Amaranthine without panicking like this.

She has to stop and lean against the broom, eyes closed, to take a few deep breaths as she fights back the tears. She wasn’t afraid to lose her own life--she’s never been afraid to lose her own life. She was afraid to lose _Duncan,_ and that knowledge makes her feel sick to her stomach.

She can’t protect Duncan here. But where else can they go?

Shuffling footsteps behind her pull her out of her thoughts, and she starts to turn around as an achingly familiar voice asks: “I don’t suppose this is the clinic? I’m looking for a healer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since Alistair last saw Harea. They haven't spoken in all of that time, but now the Qunari invasion has brought them back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW in the middle, important stuff before and after.
> 
> NOW WITH ART by [sloth-race](sloth-race.tumblr.com).

Those words shoot straight through her and she freezes mid-turn.

“I just need to get some healing potions if you still have any. Hello?”

She clutches the broom to her chest as she turns to face him completely. Alistair stands before her, bouncing on the balls of his feet in the entrance to Anders’ clinic. He is resplendent in his blue and silver Warden armor, his eyes flitting around the little front room.

When she still doesn’t say anything, he takes another step into the clinic and opens his mouth to call out to her again, but he stops. He closes his jaw with a snap, eyes wide as he drinks in her form.

“Harea?”

He takes another step toward her, arms stretching out towards her without thinking. She drops the broom and is across the open space and in his arms before it falls to the ground with a clatter.

His arms wrap around her completely, and he lifts her from the ground. His face finds its way to the crook of her neck immediately, like it belongs there. His chainmail bites into her skin, pinching her dress, but she doesn’t care. Tears flow immediately as they claw at each other’s backs, trying to pull closer.

Harea doesn’t realize they’re moving until her thighs hit one of Anders’ worktables. She pushes Alistair just far enough away to look at his face, her fingers digging into the top of his breastplate, anchoring them together.

“Where have you _been_?” The words are out before she can think about them, and he closes his eyes against the unspoken accusation. Neither of them let go.

“Highever. Then Weisshaupt. Then I traveled through Orlais. When I finally made it to Amaranthine, you were gone, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me where you were.”

“Did you get my letters?” He nods. “You didn’t write back.” He hangs his head and tries to press it back against her neck, but she holds him in place. “Why not?” He doesn’t answer, and she shakes him slightly. “You need to tell me. Right now, Alistair. Why did you stay away?”

He takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes before he speaks. His eyes are so similar to Duncan’s that her breath catches and she almost misses his words. “I was angry and afraid. And then I was ashamed. And then I couldn’t find you. Harea, I am _so so_ sorry. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’ve been an absolute _idiot._ ”

Her hands are shaking. His are too, trembling against her hips.

“Can you ever forgive me? If-- I’ll understand if you have someone else. I know you left Amaranthine with a Warden named Anders. But I want--”

She answers his stammered question by pulling him down to press their lips together, connecting them in a searing kiss. When their mouths meet, it’s like they’ve never been apart. Her fingers tangle in his hair and he uses his large hands to lift her onto the table, pushing her knees apart so he can stand between them.

He moves to kiss along her jaw to her ear, following the familiar path, nibbling gently, but quickly returns to her lips. He’s missed this, he’s missed the feel of their mouths working together, the feel of her solid in his arms. She makes little keening noises with each breath, and her hands flutter over his unfamiliar armor, searching for buckles in the old places.

She finds what she’s searching for, and within moments he’s standing before her in only his shirt and trousers, his armor piled on the floor.

They rest their foreheads together, trying to catch their breath. They’re both still trembling, tears occasionally mingling on their cheeks.

He’s achingly hard already, nearly five years apart having taken their toll. He doesn’t know what she wants yet; there are so many questions that don’t have answers, but all he wants to do is let her know how desperately he’s missed her.

She has the same idea, but she’s been dreaming of this moment since he left. She isn’t willing to push him away to fight, not now that she has her hands on him.

She reaches between them and plucks at his trouser ties, quickly unraveling the knot holding them closed. Under her encouragement, he pushes her skirts out of his way, sliding his hands up her thighs. They’re more full than he remembers, softer under his touch. He moans at the sensation, overwhelmed with the desire to take her right there on the table.

She takes his heavy cock in her hand, squeezing and twisting her wrist the way she remembers he likes it, and she’s rewarded with a moan he muffles against the hot skin of her neck. She makes the motion again, and he bites just above her collarbone.

The feeling of his teeth rasping against her skin makes her cry out and pull him closer. Their lips meet in a bruising kiss as Alistair’s hands surge up to grab at her smalls. He pulls at them sharply, and the flimsy material rips under his grasp. He flings the shreds away, letting them flutter to the floor, before he traces his thumb over her opening. He groans into her mouth as he finds her already soaked and ready for him, and he rubs tights circles over her bud.

Harea whimpers against his mouth before dragging her teeth over his bottom lip. One leg hooks around his waist, drawing him closer as she shifts to the edge of the table.

Alistair pulls away from her, placing steadying hands on her hips. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead. This close, she can see the streaks of dust and blood on his face and in his hair, signs that he was in the middle of the fighting overhead.

“Are you sure?” his voice sound strangled, like he has to force the words out through his haze of want and need.

She nods. “Alistair, _please._ ”

He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers, watching her face as he closes the final distance between them. He moves by memory, sliding slowly inside of her. She bites her lip and holds back a moan as he stretches her, fills her completely.

He freezes as soon as he’s hilted inside of her, allowing her the chance to adjust to him. She breathes deeply, relaxing her muscles around him. After a moment, she moves her hands to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, and rolls her hips against his.

The motion makes him whine and his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He’s already too close to finishing, too overwhelmed by the feeling of her after so long apart. He moves one hand from her hip back to their joining, drawing little circles on her clit as he begins to move.

Each slow thrust makes both of them whimper, and Harea’s hands slide from Alistair’s face to the back of his neck. Her fingernails dig into his skin as he presses deep inside of her, stoking the fire that’s growing between them.

He wants to keep their pace slow, to draw out their reunion as long as he possibly can, but their bodies override him. She rolls her hips against his and pulls at him with her hands, urging him to move faster, and he obeys without hesitation. His movements become more forceful until the table is shuddering under them, its joints creaking and the legs scraping against the floor.

His thumb hits her just right and she comes undone, throwing her head back with a growl. Her teeth are clenched to hold back the sound, and Alistair leans forward to press his face into the crook of her neck as he follows her over the edge. He thrusts into her heat erratically, then grabs her hips to hold her still against him as he buries himself as deep as he can, spilling inside of her.

They come down together, clutching tightly as their breathing calms. Alistair presses a light kiss to Harea’s lips as he slides out of her, swallowing her whimper. He only pulls away far enough to retie his trousers closed before wrapping both arms around her to pull her against him.

His tears come again, and he lets them fall without shame. Harea holds him tightly around the neck, one hand on the back of his head, murmuring soft elven phrases to him. He doesn’t understand them, but he remembers the way she’s holding him. It means he’s loved, wanted. Maybe not forgiven, not yet, but he’s _accepted._

“We have a lot to talk about,” she murmurs, running her fingers through his hair. It has little specks of gray in it now that it didn’t before, collecting at his temples. Time has changed them both, softening her while it weathered him.

He tightens his arms around her. “I know. I know.” He doesn’t move to look at her, tightening his arms around her waist. He tries to remember the last time he held her in his arms, before the Battle of Denerim. It seems so long ago, now. So much has happened since then. How can they move past everything? He just tucks her closer to him, trying to keep this moment of peace for as long as he can.

They don’t move until they hear the click of a latch opening, and Harea pushes Alistair far enough away to look over her shoulder.

Duncan walks into the clinic, yawning after his nap. He’s dragging the small, lop-sided blanket that Merrill knitted for him in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. Alistair stops breathing and clutches Harea’s waist as their son quietly pads across the room towards them.

The little boy pauses when he sees Harea and Alistair standing so closely together. He’s used to seeing strangers in the clinic, but none of them have ever touched his mother like that. It makes him frown.

“Mamae?” he asks. Harea pulls away from Alistair and slides off the table, adjusting her skirt as she walks. She picks up her son and steadies him on her hip before returning to stand by Alistair’s side.

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a steadying breath. A few more tears slip down her cheeks and she wipes at the with the back of her hand. “Alistair, um. This is…” her voice catches and she stops to clear her throat. “This is Duncan.”

Alistair’s eyes widen. “Duncan?”

Duncan looks up at him, a serious expression on his little face. He studies the man in front of him, the one he’s never seen before. “Papa?”

Alistair looks at Harea, still frozen.

“Yes, da’len, this is your babae. Your papa.” Duncan and Alistair watch each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Alistair is trembling, completely unashamed of how hard his hands are shaking. “Do you want to say hi to him?”

Duncan blinks up at him for a moment and clutches his blanket closer to his chest. “Where’s your sword?”

Alistair’s eyebrows rise. “My sword?”

Duncan nods. “Mamae says you were gone fighting and that you have a _sword_ and a _mabari_.”

A watery laugh erupts from Alistair’s throat, and Duncan offers him a little smile in return. “Yes, I do have a sword. I, um, I can show it to you later if you want.” Duncan nods and stretches out his arms for Alistair to hold him.

Harea passes their son over, and Alistair takes the little boy in his arms like he might break, or disappear back into the Fade. This close together, Harea can see even more clearly their resemblance. Duncan shares Alistair’s hazel eyes, dark skin, and strong nose. Even with ears that look more like hers than they should, it’s clear that Alistair is the boy’s father.

Duncan seems to realize it as well, because he rests his cheek against Alistair’s shoulder without argument, relaxing against his strong chest.

Alistair looks down at Duncan, then up at Harea with tears in his eyes and a wide smile on his face.

He’s really here, with Harea, with their son.

He finally found them.

“Duncan.” He breathes his son’s name, and Harea’s face lights up in a watery smile. Looking from their son to Harea again, he lets his tears flow unchecked. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. I just want my babies to be happy.
> 
> I have a few more one-shots planned to cover things that I didn't have room for in this story as well as things that happen after this last chapter. Stay tuned :)
> 
> Like this story? Leave me a comment or pop over to my [tumblr](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com/) to talk to me about it! I promise I'll love whatever you have to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, come over to [tumblr](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com) and we can talk about it :)


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